


sunny side up

by toromeo (ald0us)



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, Feelings, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Slow Burn, Some homophobia/internalized homophobia, Suicide Attempt, past CSA, the warnings are real but it's basically a romcom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2019-09-13 08:23:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 52,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16889028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ald0us/pseuds/toromeo
Summary: Jace is barely holding together a new school, his dysfunctional relationship with his family, and the pressures of varsity soccer: nothing in his senior year of high school is going as planned. But with the re-appearance of Jonathan Morgenstern—now going by Sebastian—in his life, he’s fucked.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey friends! While this fic is mostly on the lighthearted side (or at least the darkly comedic), the work will deal with themes of coming out, CSA, and suicide (note that there is no MCD in the fic). Please keep those in mind if you choose to read, and if you need to ask clarification feel free to shoot me a comment or whatever. There will be warnings on the chapters that deal with these themes.
> 
> Lastly, a special shout-out to sunjimon/elektra-natchioss on tumblr for helping me wrangle this story into something coherent! I literally never could have done it without her. Thank you, Ann! <3

“C’mon. It’ll be fun.”  
  
Sebastian is smiling, the narrow, sharp-toothed one that usually spells trouble. He takes a drink from his emptying vodka bottle, then holds it out as an offering. Jace takes a sip, feeling the harsh burn wash down his throat as he swallows. He feels light-headed for a second, then pushes the sensation away. Sebastian’s shirt is unbuttoned all the way down to his chest; something impulsive in Jace can’t look away from the pale V of revealed skin. His long legs are sprawled over his bed, shoes still on, the black of his trousers dark against the white of his comforter.  
  
“I don’t have a costume,” Jace says. He can’t ask Jocelyn and Luke for an allowance for one—money is tight enough as it is. He hasn’t seen his mother crying over bills for a long time, but he knows the signs, and knows better than to ask.  
  
Sebastian takes another pull of vodka and flops back onto the mattress, his hair splayed around his head. His dark eyes are intent on his phone—Jace has been trying not to admire it. It’s the new iPhone X, black and slim, and it fits Sebastian as perfectly as his tailored clothes. “Of course you don’t yet, you fucking idiot. That’s why we’re planning ahead.” He looks up from his screen, grinning. “Joker and Harley Quinn.”  
  
Jace makes a face. “Yeah, one problem with that: neither of us are Margot Robbie.”  
  
Sebastian kicks him, not hard enough to hurt. “I’ll have you know I look _amazing_ in pigtails.” He throws down his phone, sliding off the bed and mimes swinging a baseball bat.  
  
“It wasn’t the pigtails I had in mind,” Jace comments. The idea of Sebastian in tiny glittery shorts is slightly ridiculous, but it makes his face heat anyway.  
  
“Oh you of little faith.” Sebastian makes for his closet, a large, messy, overstuffed room nearly the size of Jace’s room at home. He disappears into it, shutting the door behind him. “Prepare to be amazed,” he calls through the door.  
  
Jace rolls his eyes. After a few seconds he gets bored, so he fishes his phone out of his pocket. After years of his old one with a back plate that kept slipping off and dropping his battery into new and exciting places, Sebastian’s old iPhone 6 seems impossibly sleek and luxurious. Jace had resisted the offer for a few long, hard weeks, but eventually broke down and accepted. (“It’s not like anyone’s using it,” Sebastian had said reasonably, lazily tapping through the setup screens. “And you can use FaceTime now, in case you want to wake me at three AM with life’s pressing questions.”) Jace had thanked him awkwardly and tried not to feel self-conscious every time he used it.  
  
He has a few texts from Jocelyn and Luke, and a few snaps from Clary. Probably more pictures of her and her new best friend, Isabelle. He also has a few snaps from Sebastian, which Jace has to assume he had sent during class. The first few are of him making bored faces with captions like “when I said I wanted to get fucked I didn’t mean by an exam,” and “if I snap and murder everyone in this room, just know Catcher in the Rye did it.” The middle few are of him smoking in the bathroom, and Jace has to wonder how he avoided getting caught and simultaneously managed to look good in mirror selfies. The last are particularly embarrassing videos of Jace making somewhat awkward faces in the car—Jace reminded himself to cover his face any time the camera pointed near his face.  
  
Alec had updated his story with lots of pictures of him and the theatre kid, Magnus. Jace watches a video of them laughing and shouting over the noise, and Alec’s bright grin and familiar face brings a lump to his throat. Jace swipes to the camera screen and takes a picture of something random—Sebastian’s desk, covered in clothes and crumpled paper—and starts to type, but then realizes he has nothing to say.  
  
_Looking good man_ , he types, then pauses. After a second he closes out of the snap and puts down his phone—it was stupid, anyway.  
  
At that moment the closet door bursts open and Sebastian re-emerges. Jace blinks, his eyebrows shooting up of their own accord.  
  
“Okay, I did _not_ need to see that,” he says, mostly because he can’t think of anything else to say. Sebastian’s wearing black shorts that are extremely tiny and tight-fitting—disturbingly so. His shirt is too short to reach his midriff, and reads in a looping script, _Daddy’s Little Monster_. Jace recognizes it as Harley Quinn’s shirt from the movie, and makes a face. “Why do you even own that?”  
  
“I saw it at the store,” Sebastian says, as if this should be obvious. He gives a lazy stretch that bares even more of his stomach, then rounds the bed and climbs back up onto it. Jace tries not to notice how slender and pale his legs are, or the fine down of hair that glints in the lamplight from the bedside.  
  
Sebastian sticks an arm out and rummages around in his bedside table, then pulls out a white choker necklace and holds it out, admiring it lazily. “I could write _Puddin_ on this. And if I got the right shorts—“  
  
“No,” Jace says. He definitely does not want to ask why Sebastian owns a choker and why it’s kept in his bedside table. “Like, you could do that in theory, but I wouldn’t be caught dead within ten feet of you.”  
  
Sebastian rolls his eyes. “You suck. Fine, I’ll be Joker and you be Batman, because you’re boring and hate fun. You can brood all the time and secretly jack off in the Batcave to the image of your stunningly attractive archnemsis in his henchman’s slutty costume.”  
  
“I don’t remember that part of _Batman_.”  
  
“It was cut to keep it PG-13.” Sebastian drops his phone on his chest and rolls his head Jace’s way. “You hungry?”  
  
“Yeah.” Jace hasn’t eaten since lunch, and that was only a sad half a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich.  
  
“Takeout? Pizza?” Sebastian rolls over and props himself up on his elbows, pulling up the menus of the nearest places that deliver. “We could get Chinese, but we got that yesterday. If you want there’s those microwaveable burritos in the freezer.”  
  
“The Amy’s ones?” Jace loves those. They used to get them at Costco, before Jocelyn canceled their membership. Jace has memories of climbing on huge pallets of food, running up and down and chasing Clary through the aisles. He also remembered taking turns riding on Val’s shoulders, taller than the world around him and feeling like he could take on a dinosaur and win.  
  
“Yeah.” Sebastian looks up at him curiously, as if something of Jace’s thoughts have shown on his face. “You want one?”  
  
Jace nods, and Sebastian slides off the bed and makes for the door. Jace follows, doing his utmost not to notice the fact that Sebastian’s ass is very much visible in his current attire. He can’t imagine what would happen if Val or Val’s girlfriend—Annalise? Jace can’t remember her name—walked in. Not that he’d ever actually seen either of them at the house.  
  
Sebastian descends the stairs into the kitchen, pulling open the huge, stainless-steel freezer and tossing out two burritos. “You want one or two?” he asks, before closing the door.  
  
“Two,” Jace says.  
  
Sebastian grabs a second one and throws it down on the granite counter, opening the microwave and ripping off the burrito wrappers, putting them in all at once. Jace watched him put in three minutes, leaning against the island counter and trying not to feel out of place in the high-ceilinged kitchen with its dark, elegant décor and fancy furniture.  
  
“We’ve also got like, Val’s health food shit, if you want some,” Sebastian adds, gesturing to the fridge. He gives Jace a significant look. “I wouldn’t risk it, personally.”  
  
Jace cracks a smile. “By health food shit, do you mean things that photosynthesize?”  
  
Sebastian shrugs. “I don’t know, it’s some stupid diet he’s trying.” He abandons the burritos to go flop down on the couch, a huge leather thing that’s was softer than Jace’s mattress. His limbs look even more pale against the dark leather. “What do you want to do?”  
  
“Well first, eat,” says Jace. “Then...I dunno. What do you want to do?”  
  
Sebastian thinks a moment. “Tindr, or hook up my computer to the TV and watch you fail miserably at _Dark Soul_ s.”  
  
“Fuck off, I’ve barely even played it before.” Jace opens the microwave when it dings and pulls out the burritos, grabbing one gingerly by the wrapping and carrying it to the couch, then fetching the other two for himself. Sebastian moves his legs so Jace can sit down. After he’s eaten about half his first burrito, Jace stops long enough to say, “So what are we even doing for Halloween? I’m certainly not invited to any parties.”  
  
Sebastian’s nose wrinkles. “Parties? Like at school?” He shakes his head. “I’m not going to another fucking boring house party. Most of the places downtown are doing stuff for Halloween—we should go there.”  
  
Jace raises an eyebrow. “May I remind you neither of us are legal drinking age? No club worth going to will let us in, and I certainly don’t think we can charm our way in.” He gestures significantly. “Still not Margot Robbie, remember?”  
  
“Relax, I know a place.” Sebastian looks smug, as he usually does when he can reveal he has some greater life experience Jace doesn’t, which is often. “It’s a gay club, though, so if your finer sensibilities can’t handle it, we’ll have to find somewhere else.”  
  
There’s a challenge in that statement, and Jace can’t help be a bit stung. “I’m not homophobic,” he protests, a bit uncertainly. “I don’t mind.”  
  
Sebastian smiles that narrow smile again. “Good.” His smile turns sardonic. “Lucky you’ll be wearing the mask, otherwise who knows who might fall for your golden looks.”  
  
“Fuck off,” Jace mutters, and takes another bite of burrito. “You mentioned _Dark Souls_?”  
  
“Eager to impress me with how many times you can die on the first level?”  
  
Jace hits him with a pillow, which is surprisingly large and heavy, decked out with thick ropey fringe. In a deep Batman voice, he says, “ _I could break you._ ”  
  
Sebastian laughs, rolling off the couch. “That’s Bane, not Batman.”  
  
  
  
  
A few hours later, Jace has given up on _Dark Souls_ and is now playing _Arkham City_ on Sebastian’s laptop. Sebastian is sprawled on his bed, absorbed in his phone.  
  
“If you let Mr. Freeze kill you one more time, I’m knocking you out and doing it myself.”  
  
Jace scowls at him. “I’ve only tried three times.”  
  
Sebastian grins at him. “Touchy, touchy. Aren’t you supposed to be home by now? Not that I’m complaining, but doesn’t she get pissy if you’re out late?”  
  
Sebastian doesn’t refer to Jocelyn by name or as Jace’s mother—even when she and Val had still been together, neither had particularly liked the other. Jace hadn’t known if it was because he was Val’s from another marriage, or just because she had something against him. It wouldn’t be that surprising—Jocelyn didn’t really like anyone except Clary, or maybe Luke.  
  
“Nah. Clary’s concert is tonight. They’ll be out late.” Jace keeps his tone nonchalant. “How about Val? I swear I’ve never actually seen him.”  
  
“He’s back in Switzerland,” Sebastian says. “Business. Annalise is probably going to show her ass at some point, though.”  
  
Jace frowns. “Do you not like her?”  
  
“She’s a bitch,” Sebastian says, sounding bored. “Val has a shit taste in women.”  
  
“Like Batman.” Jace swears suddenly as Mr. Freeze detects Batman’s motion and grapples quickly to the ceiling. He’s on low health and if he doesn’t get out of there quickly—  
  
A stray henchman catches him in gunfire and the death screen flashes. Jace groans, putting down the controller in defeat. “ _Fuck_.”  
  
Sebastian gives him a superior smile but adds nothing else. “Pause it and come here. I want your opinion on something.”  
  
Jace complies, toggling off the game and getting up from Sebastian’s desk chair to join him on the bed. “What are you doing?”  
  
Sebastian looks amused. “I got bored so I convinced this guy on grindr I’m seventeen and have a nipple piercing.”  
  
Jace squints at him. “ _Why_?”  
  
Sebastian shrugs. “To see if he’d bite, I don’t know.”  
  
“And did he?” Jace’s voice raises half an octave. “If he did, he’s a fucking creep. You should report him.” It occurs to him to ask why Sebastian is catfishing people as a seventeen-year-old, especially considering neither of them are that much older, but he doesn’t.  
  
“He did.” Sebastian sounds smug again. “He wants a picture of me. Should I send one?”  
  
“Definitely not.” To Sebastian’s raised eyebrows, Jace adds, “Even if it was a creepy old lady, I’d still say no.”  
  
Sebastian opens his camera roll, flipping through selfies. There are a lot of them, and Jace is simultaneously impressed and jealous to note he looks good in all of them. Eventually he selects an old one, where his nearly-white hair falls in his face. He’s wearing a pink polo and has a shy smile on his face.  
  
“I don’t know you,” Jace declares.  
  
“Don’t be a pussy,” Sebastian replies, smacking him on the arm. “Let’s see if he thinks I’m hot.”  
  
_You are hot_ , Jace thinks, but quickly stifles the thought. Not that there’s anything wrong with it—Sebastian is pretty attractive, he doesn’t have to be gay to see that—but he doesn’t want to say it out loud.  
  
A shark’s grin spreads over Sebastian’s face, and Jace cranes his neck around to see his screen.  
  
_> You’re cute. is that your school uniform?_  
_> just kidding_  
  
Sebastian is laughing, and Jace grimaces. He starts typing and Jace braces himself for the worst.  
  
_<   just cute?? im hurt _  
_< also yeah it is my uniform how did u kno?_  
  
“You’re horrible,” Jace groans, covering his face with his hands and rolling away. “Like, awful.”  
  
_> Well not just cute you’re pretty sexy too_  
_> I’d fuck you_  
_> What are you into?_  
  
Sebastian’s grin turns wicked.  
  
_< I want to call you daddy_  
_< would u like that??_  
  
“Fuck off,” Jace says loudly, though there’s a degree of hysterical hilarity to the situation he can’t shake. “Holy shit, you’re the worst person I’ve ever met.”  
  
“It’s an honor even to be nominated.” Sebastian’s dark eyes watch the screen carefully for the typing bubble. He gets bored after a few seconds and checks Instagram—Jace averts his eyes as he notices his feed is full of well, naked dudes in collars—then flicks back to grindr.  
  
_> You can call me daddy if you want_  
_> Are you a virgin?_  
  
Jace groans again. “This asshole has the subtlety of a fucking freight train.”  
  
Sebastian’s eyebrow raises. “You ever used online dating? This is par for the course.”  
  
Jace shakes his head. “That’s depressing as hell.”  
  
_< yeah I am is that ok??_  
_< what would you do to me if you fucked me, daddy?_  
  
“Biggest liar ever,” Jace inputs. “Also, gross.”  
  
“Jealousy is unbecoming, Jace.” Sebastian’s expression is impish. “Just because you’ve never been laid in your life—“  
  
“Shut the fuck up.”  
  
“—doesn’t mean you have to take it out on everyone else.”  
  
Jace socks him on the arm, not gently. “You’re a dick.”  
  
Sebastian swats back at him. “Shut up, he’s typing. Don’t you want to know what this guy’s going to do to my young and impressionable body?”  
  
“I really don’t,” Jace says, but he doesn’t take his eyes away from the screen. A few bubbles appear and Sebastian angles his phone away so Jace can’t see. Jace paws at it, trying to pull it back towards him, but Sebastian’s grip is firm.  
  
“I’m curious!” Jace hisses. “What did he say?”  
  
After a moment Sebastian gives him the phone. Jace grabs at it and starts reading. It’s a lot of filth—he skims that quickly, feeling his face heat with discomfort—but he can’t help but imagine the things in his mind’s eye. “I can’t comment,” he says at last, but there’s something hot and angry that feels almost like jealousy curling around his chest.  
  
“It’d be hot if it was from anyone else.” There’s a strange quality to Sebastian’s voice; he takes the phone back and starts typing.  
  
“What are you doing?” Jace cranes around to see. “You’re not responding to that, are you?”  
  
“He’s got his face in his profile,” Sebastian says, a dark sort of amusement in his voice. “Ten bucks says it’s also his twitter profile. One reverse image search and I know where he works.”  
  
Jace blinks, a bit surprised. The guy was a fucking creep, as he’s already said, but reporting him versus taking shit into their own hands seem like two different things. Still—he deserves it, doesn’t he? Unless he’s just fucking around, too, just like Sebastian is—  
  
Sebastian jumps off the bed and grabs his computer from his desk, climbing back up, already doing the search. He clicks on a few results, dark eyes fixed intently on the screen, then after a few tries he gives a soft _aha_. A few clicks later he’s on the guy’s twitter profile. It has his location, his first name, and says he works with a manufacturing firm. He has sandy curly hair, a flushed face, and a slightly awkward smile.  
  
“You’re not actually going to—“  
  
“Relax.” Sebastian doesn’t so much as look at him, already picking up his phone. He types where Jace can’t see for a few moments,  then puts it down.  
  
Before he can say anything, Jace’s backpack makes angry vibrating noises.  Jace dives for it and pulls open the topmost pocket, pulling out his old phone and swearing as the back threatened to pop off. Jocelyn was calling—it was past midnight—  
  
He answers it. “Hey, mom.” The words sound foreign in his mouth with Sebastian sitting behind him. Sebastian’s eyes frost over, but he doesn’t say anything.  
  
“ _We’re leaving Clary’s concert now,”_ Jocelyn’s voice said. _“Could you throw something in the fridge in the oven? Luke hasn’t eaten, he left right from the station—“_  
  
“Yeah, yeah sure, I’ll try.” Jace fights to keep the panic from his voice—he’s not supposed to be here, he’s supposed to have been home hours and hours ago—  
  
_“Thanks. We’ll see you soon.”_  
  
“Okay.” Jace tries to remember what’s in the fridge—some pot roast, maybe some Indian food? All of it will take a long time to heat up. “See you.”  
  
Jocelyn hangs up at the same moment he does. Jace grabs his bag, already heading for the door. “Does the bus even run at this hour? I think it stopped a few minutes ago—I should have paid more attention to the time, now I’ll have to take the 42—“  
  
“You’re not taking the bus.” Sebastian’s tone brokers no resistance. “I’ll drive you. We can pick something up along the way. What does Luke like?”  
  
Jace thinks a moment. “Subway, but Jocelyn said to heat leftovers—“  
  
“Forget mummy’s orders. C’mon.” Sebastian is pulling on sweatpants—still wearing that bloody Harley Quinn shirt, Jace notices vaguely—and pushing his feet into Adidas sandals (probably real). He grabs Jace’s AP Literature book off the bed (Dickens’ _Hard Times_ ) and starts out of his room and down the stairs, taking them two at a time.  
  
 In minutes they’re in Sebastian’s car—a rather shiny black BMW he’d apparently inherited from Val—and are pulling out of the driveway. The windows are down and a cool breeze whips at Jace’s hair and face; he’s anxious and worried at once, the emotion tinged with resentment. If only he didn’t have to pretend he was at soccer practice until late—if only Jocelyn cared Clary wasn’t her only child—  
  
A ringing noise interrupts his self-pity.  
  
“Shit, Val’s calling.” Sebastian flicks a button on the steering wheel. To Jace’s worried look, he adds, “Text him and tell him I’m out getting McDonalds. He doesn’t care.”  
  
Jace fumbles with Sebastian’s phone in the front seat cups and swiped the message open. The temptation to scan the previous parts of the conversation came and went quickly; the last two messages were from Val, saying goodnight.  He typed,  
  
_< Sorry I’m getting McDonalds, I’ll call later_  
  
A pause; Jace’s heart hammered in his chest, as if Val might see through the phone and know it was him, not Sebastian. An illogical part of him wanted Val to recognize him—but it was impossible.  
  
_> Texting in the car is more dangerous than calling, you know._  
_> Sorry. Stay safe_  
_> Love you_  
  
Jace knows Sebastian wouldn’t reply, but he types out,  
  
_< Love you too_  
  
  
  
  
“Hey there, champ.” Luke was first through the door; he looked very tired. He’d started calling Jace ‘champ’ ironically after Jace’s first soccer championship, and hadn’t quite managed to stop. Jocelyn was bundling Clary through the door, Clary’s violin strapped to her back. “How was the evening?”  
  
“Not bad.” Jace gives him a smile. “I got you Subway.”  
  
“Jace, you shouldn’t have.” Jocelyn fusses. “There were perfectly good leftovers in the fridge—“  
  
“I found ten bucks on the ground,” Jace says, a bit more snappishly than intended. “You said Luke hadn’t eaten. I figured he was tired and got him something.”  
  
This was, of course, complete bullshit—Sebastian had threatened to drive him back to Val’s house if Jace didn’t let him pay. Jace hadn’t put up as much of an argument as his ego dictated, and definitely wasn’t going to be lectured about it now.  
  
Jocelyn’s expression softened slightly. “You should have spent it on yourself,” she said, in that awkward sort of way that suggested she was trying very hard to act like she cared but not quite succeeding. “Luke likes the roast.”  
  
“I appreciate it, son.” Luke puts a hand on Jace’s shoulder. “What did you get? I’ve heard the panini’s aren’t so bad—“  
  
“I got your regular order.” Jace remembers it because it’s similar to Val’s—roast beef, habernero cheese, toasted, with all the vegetables except olives. Spicy sauce. “Well, I think I got it right, anyway.”  
  
“As long as nothing’s moving, I’m grateful.” Luke peers into the bag. “You even got cookies. We’ll have to share.”  
  
“I’m fine, thanks.” Jace smiles at him, and hopes he looks sincere. He is. “I’ve actually got to get back to my homework, so—“  
  
“Of course.” Luke squeezes his shoulder again, then lets go. “Get some rest, though. Big day tomorrow.”  
  
“I’ll do my best.” Jace gives Clary a quick smile. “Concert go okay?”  
  
“Horrible,” says Clary sleepily. She’s bundled in Jocelyn’s favorite suede jacket from the eighties, and looks silly, but she’s his little sister so he doesn’t laugh. “Terrible.”  
  
“Uh huh. And Mona Lisa actually sucks.” That draws out a smile; Jace isn’t sure where to go from there. “Well, get some sleep,” he says awkwardly, then does his best to extricate himself before anyone can engage him further.  
  
As soon as he’s back up to his room, he pulls Sebastian’s old phone from under his pillow and puts it back down on his desk, where he’s copying his pre-Calc assignment from the answer key. Aline’s sending him a steady stream of student athlete memes, which would be funny if he was still on the team with her, but now somehow adds to his melancholy. Sebastian’s offline, and Alec isn’t answering—hasn’t been for a long time, now.  
  
Jace puts down his pencil, midway through copying some horribly fucking long problem he doesn’t give a shit about. He’ll finish copying it in the morning—or not at all. Right now, all he wants to do is take a shower, or preferably drown in the shower, or slip through the drain and get carried away into the sewers.  
  
The phone vibrates and Jace immediately feels foolish. His heart leaps—it’s Sebastian on iMessage. Jace opens the messages right away.  
  
_> still up?_  
  
_< Yeah. fucking precal_  
  
_> lmao just copy it_  
  
_< I am copying it. still takes hours_  
  
_> fuck precal. are you serious about Halloween? im looking at costumes_  
_> still think id look hot in a blonde wig_  
  
_< Nope. no wigs and no harley quinn I swear to god_  
_< but yeah I’m down for Halloween_  
_< don’t know where I’m gonna get a batman costume_  
  
_> ebay, jace_  
_> ill figure it out you work on getting better at copying math assignments_  
  
Jace scowls.  
  
_< fuck off there’s like five pages_  
  
_> half an hour max. up your game_  
_> anyway halloween’s this Saturday so make sure you can make it to val’s early so we can get ready_  
  
_< okay ill tell Jocelyn I have practice and then a house party_  
_< she might make Clary come with me though so idk_  
  
_> we’re not dragging your little sister around with us jace_  
  
_< I know_  
_< I might have to convince her though_  
  
_> well, be convincing_  
_> if not start growing out your hair and I’ll climb up to rescue you from your tower_  
  
Jace cracks a smile at that.  
  
_< fuck off_  
  
_> oh romeo, romeo let down your hair_  
  
_< it’s rapunzel you idiot. or “romeo, romeo, wherefore art thou romeo”_  
  
_> nerd_  
_> fuck annalise is back_  
_> shes gonna ask me about my fucking day and all that shit_  
_> like what does she expect me to say _  
_> oh nothing much just sucked five dicks behind the gym bleachers_  
  
Jace snorts.  
  
_< id like to see her reaction to that_  
  
_> me too _  
_> should I say that?_  
  
_< What? no_  
_< Have you though?_  
  
_> what? sucked five dicks behind the gym bleachers?_  
_> I mean not five_  
_> I don’t believe in multitasking _  
  
A pause, and Jace can almost see Sebastian smiling.  
  
_> but yeah ive sucked a dick_  
_> and behind the gym bleachers_  
  
_< I will never see the bleachers the same way again_  
  
_> have I ruptured your pure, virginal innocence? or are you never going to be able to jack off anywhere but there ever again_  
  
_< haha very funny_  
_< well I mean it cant be very sanitary. like I don’t think they clean it out more than once a season_  
_< seriously_  
  
_> cleaner than the mens locker room_  
_> not that I would know of course_  
  
Jace’s face heats with something between embarrassment and something akin to possessiveness. He hesitates a moment before replying.  
  
_< the locker room is a pigsty yeah_  
  
For a while Sebastian doesn’t reply, and Jace thinks he’s gotten bored. Then the bubble appears again and Jace leans forward, as if in anticipation.  
  
_> sorry that was annalise_  
_> I told her I tested positive for aids_  
_> I don’t think she knew if I was joking_  
  
_< I mean aids isn’t funny_  
  
_> it got her to go away_  
_> are you following me on instagram? if not do it now_  
_> I just posted a picture and if it doesn’t get enough likes im deleting it_  
  
Jace snorts—Clary went in for that sort of thing briefly in middle school, before realizing it was a) idiotic and b) not for her—but keeps that sentiment to himself.  
  
_> I don’t have instagram_  
  
_< you suck_  
  
_> weve established pretty firmly you suck more_  
  
_< original_  
_< anyway if you get it follow me_  
_< im sebastianverlac_  
  
Jace types the name into google, out of curiosity. The first result is, undoubtedly, Sebastian. He has almost 11k followers—that in itself is enough to raise Jace’s eyebrows. Most of his pictures are of himself, all unfairly flattering, a lot of them with his shoulders or chest bare. He looks pretty fit, even if Jace knows he doesn’t often work out. Most of the comments read like they’re from tweenagers (and probably girls), but a few raise his eyebrows further—usually explicit in nature, from guys. Jace lazily taps through an increasingly wordy and contentious squabble between some dude with the username grizzly_bear_87 and a girl calling herself xx_alorna_sunshadow19, over whether Sebastian is straight or not. It makes him laugh, if nothing else.  
  
_> you’ve got quite the legion of adoring fans_  
_> should I start calling you sebby too?_  
  
_< if you do that to my face I’ll kill you and then myself_  
  
Jace laughs.  
  
_> alright good to know_  
_> seriously though don’t those people weird you out?_  
  
_< I haven’t had anyone show up at my house with an axe yet, if that’s what you mean_  
_< idk its amusing_  
  
_> your ego really need twelve year olds fighting over who gets to marry you?_  
  
_< yeah actually if I don’t get enough of them in a day I start aging_  
_< its like the modern portrait of dorian grey or whatever_  
  
_> I didn’t know you could read._  
  
_< fuck off jace im taking AP lit too_  
_< I mean I never do the reading but theoretically_  
_< I sleep in that class does it count?_  
  
Jace sighs.  
  
_> no it doesn’t asshole_  
_> maybe if you paid more attention it’d improve your personality_  
  
_< my personality is naturally perfect_  
_< so perfect ive turned priests gay_  
  
_> not to be insensitive but im pretty sure theyre mostly already gay_  
  
_< fuck youre right_  
_< none of them would want me tho im not in middle school_  
_< maybe if I dressed up theyd consider it_  
  
 Jace can feel whatever was left of his soul cringing.  
  
_> jokes about pedophilia seriously throw doubt on  your claims to perfection_  
  
_< fair enough_  
_< back to Halloween do you think I should be the dark knight joker or suicide squad joker_  
_< im pretty sure they don’t let you wear trench coats into clubs anymore_  
  
Jace thinks for a moment.  
  
_> suicide squad. maybe if youre really lucky you can piss off a fanboy_  
  
_< good point. _  
_< maybe I could make a living making youtube videos where I insult dark knight fanboys for getting off on me and calling them fake fans while they jack off and cry_  
  
_> pretty niche market might wanna diversify_  
  
_< specialization and knowing your audience is key_  
_< could add in something about  living in their mom’s basement and owning more than one piece of suggestive harley quinn memorabilia_  
  
Jace shakes his head, and yawns. It’s nearly two AM—he has to get up at six for practice.  
  
_> as fascinating as fanboy shame kink  is, I’ve got to sleep_  
_> talk to you tomorrow_  
  
_< princess has to get his beauty sleep?_  
  
_> fuck off you don’t even take the bus_  
_> anyway night_  
_> try not to act on your brilliant business ideas before running them by me okay_  
  
Jace waits nearly fifteen minutes more, checking his phone while brushing his teeth and changing into the cleanest pajamas he can find, before realizing Sebastian isn’t going to reply. He goes to sleep minutes after turning off the light.  
  
  
  
  
“For fuck’s sake, give me that.” Sebastian grabs Jace’s pre-Cal answer key out of his hands and stuffs a toasted bagel from Bagel Bros in its place. Jace’s stomach growls appreciatively. “Growing boys have to eat. And watching you copy that slow is fucking depressing.”  
  
Jace groans. “Can’t you be a bit sympathetic? I just did like fifty laps.”  
  
“You decided to be a studly manly soccer player, not me.” True to his word, Sebastian’s pencil is fairly flying over the page; Jace can only marvel a bit hopelessly at his efficiency. The smell of egg, bacon, and bagel breaks him out of this brief reverie; in a few minutes he’s scarfed it down and balled up the wrapper, tossing it into the center of the nearest trash can.  
  
“Show off,” Sebastian mutters, already on the next page.  
  
“That’s rich coming from you. And frankly, I suck balls at basketball.”  
  
Sebastian’s smile is mischievous. “That I must see.”  
  
“Ha ha.” Jace leans in to see Sebastian’s work—it’s messy, but looks almost similar to his own handwriting, as if he’d been scrawling in a hurry. “Is copying handwriting among your many talents, or does your handwriting suck as much as mine?”  
  
“I learned to forge Val’s signature in middle school,” Sebastian says, in lieu of an answer. “Mostly so I didn’t have to tell him I’d been sent to the principal’s office and have his paternal wrath descend upon the entire school board. And because he likes to leave his checkbook unattended.”  
  
Jace smiles, though he can’t hold it. The one time he’d been sent the principal—he and Clary had gotten into a fight with someone who’d been bullying her best friend Simon—Jocelyn had grounded him for a month. “Yeah, sounds annoying.”  
  
Sebastian finishes Jace’s copied homework with a flourish, then dumps the answer key back in Jace’s arms. “You owe me at least fifteen minutes of facetiming in the locker room, or a full essay with supporting evidence ranking the football team based on dick size.”  
  
Jace rolls his eyes. “Yeah. I’ll be sure to get on that.”  
  
  
  
  
Classes pass with agonizing slowness. First period is Chemistry, and Jace battles the urge to pick up the closest toxic chemical and start chugging with great difficulty. He spends most of the time messaging Alec under the bench on messenger and letting his stressed-out lab partner, a type-A personality named Kaelie, do all the work. Alec enthusiastically tells him about theatre—he’s joined the tech team and does lights with someone named Ragnar—and how amazing Magnus is as Hamlet. He thinks they might win State, and Jace wishes them all luck. Jace tries to ask about soccer, but all Alec wants to talk about is Magnus and theatre, and all the amazing friends he’s made, and how Jace should come to their show, and how much he wishes Jace could join them, and how much Jace would enjoy tech—  
  
Eventually he pretends his battery is low and closes out of the app, in a thoroughly shitty mood and pissed off at himself for being such a fucking killjoy.  
  
Second period is AP Lit, which improves Jace’s mood just slightly, though he didn’t do the reading last night and is pissed off at himself for it. He manages to bullshit something about the themes of the chapter, but he knows it isn’t fooling his teacher, an irritable old man called Hodge Starkweather.  
  
After that he sleeps through pre-Cal and manages not to beat anyone else or himself senseless in his elective, Art (taken at Clary’s insistence), but by the time he gets to AP European History he’s tempted to skip. This is the only class he and Sebastian have together, though, so he doesn’t.  He’s talking to a girl named Camille, who is rumored to have actually bitten someone’s dick off, though Jace doesn’t quite believe it. They’re laughing about something, and for an irrational moment Jace wonders if they’re talking about him.  
  
“There you are,” Sebastian says as soon as he sees Jace, looking pleased. The teacher is already talking, but for some reason doesn’t see fit to tell Sebastian to stop. Maybe he’s already given up. “Camille and I were debating whether Principal Malachi is still fuckable with his receding hairline.”  
  
“Absolutely not,” Jace says as he dumps his backpack down next to the nearest empty desk. “Thanks for putting that mental imagine in my mind, though.”  
  
“Any time.” Camille looks vaguely amused. “Are you Clary’s brother?”  
  
“Yeah.” Jace tries not to sound protective—she’s a sophomore, he’s got to start letting her mind her own business. “What about her? You thinking of declaring your undying love?”  
  
Camille’s dark-painted lips quirk. “Hardly. Is she dating Isabelle Lightwood?”  
  
Jace’s eyebrows raise, but he manages to keep his expression from changing too much. “I don’t know. We haven’t exchanged notes on girls recently.”  
  
Camille’s smile manages to be both knowing and smug at the same time—do she and Sebastian go to the same Academy for Annoying Assholes? “Too bad. Maybe you shouldn’t cut back on girl time.”  
  
“You can start by going to Lush with me this afternoon,” Sebastian says, and Jace doesn’t even know if he’s joking. “You know, for practice.”  
  
Jace is pretty sure Clary doesn’t even know what Lush is, but he could be wrong. He knows he doesn’t. Either way, he knows he’s being condescended to, and isn’t in the mood for it. “Actually, Clary and I are getting matching haircuts next. It’s supposed to promote sibling unity.”  
  
Sebastian looks amused by this. “I’ll have to pass. I look terrible in curls.”  
  
“But not pigtails?”  
  
A ghost of confusion passes Camille’s face and Jace feels bitterly vindicated. Sebastian’s expression turns briefly impish. “Only for you.”  
  
“And your ten trillion instagram followers.”  
  
“Them too.”  
  
  
  
  
Sebastian does actually make good on his threat, or promise, to drag Jace to Lush. Jace supposes his options are to go wherever Sebastian feels like driving next, or going back home to Jocelyn and her seemingly concerted efforts to pretend he doesn’t exist.  
  
The decision is about as easy as it sounds.  
  
As soon as they walk in, Jace is immediately accosted by a lot of smells at once, not necessarily obnoxious but certainly overwhelming. Bowls and soaps and jars of all shapes and colors are everywhere, and he’s suddenly hyperaware he could break something.  
  
The first employee approaches them and before Jace can pretend to be examining a nearby...thing, Sebastian is already discussing Jace’s apparent skin problems. He hears the words ‘oily combination’ and is immediately ready to make a break for it, but the Lush employee has already blocked the exit. His nametag reads _Meliorn_ —what kind of fucking name is that?—and he has an honest to god leaf tattoo on his face. At least Jace thinks it’s a leaf. It could also be a jalapeño feeling poorly.  
  
“We’ll sort him out,” Meliorn says, and guides Jace with gentle forcefulness to a wood table, where he starts grilling Jace about his diet, exercise regimen, and skincare routine. The last of which, he is visibly horrified to learn, consists of hand soap and water.  
  
“He wears Axe,” Sebastian puts in from the other side of the store, and Meliorn looks appalled. When he passes by, he says under his breath, “Whatever you do, don’t eat or drink anything.”  
  
“Wasn’t planning to,” Jace snaps back from gritted teeth.  
  
When they’re finally done, Meliorn has laden him down with tiny samples and strict instructions on how to apply them, which Jace listens to and forgets within five seconds. A the register, Meliorn also slips Sebastian his number with a sly smile.  
  
“We’re not doing that ever again,” Jace says when he’s finally back in the passenger seat of Sebastian’s car.  
  
Sebastian laughs. “I found his concern rather touching.”  
  
“Of course you did,” Jace grumbles. He digs a sample out of the probably-recycled paper bag Meliorn gave him. “What the hell is this, anyway? ‘Dark Angel?’”  
  
“It’s a charcoal face mask,” Sebastian tells him, as if he’s an idiot. “It’s one of my favorites, but use it sparingly, or you’ll lose a layer of skin.”  
  
Jace stares at him in horror. “That’s inhumane.”  
  
“Don’t be an infant.”  
  
“You want to go with me to Sports Experts and have them babble on about running shoes for an hour? They’re not half as terrifying as whatshisname—Meliorn—either.”  
  
Sebastian laughs. “Point taken.” His expression turns impish. “So if you’re not going to use those—“  
  
Jace dumps the bag unceremoniously into his lap. “Take them all.”  
  
Sebastian roots around in it for a few moments, looking delighted. “Oh, he gave you all the best moisturizers. You should really try this one.” He unscrews a little jar and grabs Jace’s hand before he can resist and rubs some of a goopy blueberry-colored substance on his hand. His fingers are cool and the sensation feels a little strange and tingly, and he’s both disappointed and relieved when Sebastian pulls away to drench a Wendy’s napkin with water from a waterbottle and wipe it off.  
  
“Feel that,” Sebastian says proudly, running his thumb over the back of Jace’s newly-born hand. Jace brings his hand to his face, partially to feel if it feels any different and partially to feel if his face is actually as warm as it feels. His skin does feel unusually soft, almost kind of silky.  
  
“Better?”  
  
“There was literally nothing wrong with my hand to begin with,” Jace says.  
  
They fuck around for nearly half an hour after that, but shortly after Sebastian takes fancy to the idea of going to the nearest mall Jocelyn texts him and asks if he can make dinner. He says yes, and Sebastian bitches all the way back to Luke and Jocelyn’s place.  
  
“See you tomorrow,” he says as he lets Jace out a block from the house. “And remember, if you have a gas stove, leaving it on un-ignited could cause a massive explosion once there’s a spark.”  
  
Jace makes a face. “Very funny.” He hauls his bags out of the passenger’s side and slams the door shut. “See you tomorrow.”  
  
  
  
  
  
After dinner—the worst Shepherd’s pie creation has ever seen—Jace is poking through Dickens’ _Hard Times_ and trying to ignore the sound of Jocelyn and Luke’s voices in the kitchen. He’s just gotten to the part where James Harthouse has been introduced, and finds him far more interesting than most of the other characters. His cynicism and laconic immorality stand out from the harsh, utilitarian purity of the others. Jace wonders if he could write his term essay about Harthouse—  
  
His phone vibrating interrupts the thought. He checks it; it’s Sebastian on snapchat. He considers ignoring it to keep reading, but Sebastian hates being ignored on social media, so he opens it.  
  
The first few are just selfies of himself with the fucking puppy filter, which Jace has to roll his eyes at. He somehow manages to look good while engaging in behavior Jace thinks thirteen-year-olds should have aged out of, and that irks him even more. Still, he looks at all three of them, which he supposes is just enabling behavior.  
  
_< Stop sending me drunk selfies and go play a game or something_  
  
There’s a pause, and then Sebastian’s (unfairly cute) bitmoji pops up over the keyboard.  
  
_> im not fcking drunk_  
  
Jace rolls his eyes again.  
  
_< Yes you are_  
  
_> noim not shut the fkuc up_  
  
Jace shakes his head and closes out of snapchat. A few seconds later his phone vibrates again; another snap from Sebastian. Jace’s eyebrows shoot up—Sebastian is lying in bed completely shirtless, hand posed by his pouting lips. His nipples are very much visible, and Jace can’t help but instantly notice how pink and small  they are.  
  
_< holy fuck dude stop sending me nudes_  
  
He hesitates on the send button, and as if sensing weakness Sebastian sends him another snap. Jace closes the app again, resolving to focus. James Harthouse. Essay. Cynicism and morality. Would Mr. Starkweather let him write such a focused piece on a minor character, or would he prefer Jace write something that showcased his understanding of the work as a whole—  
  
“For fuck’s sake!” Jace grabs his phone and swipes into Snapchat. Sebastian has sent him five new snaps, and Jace has a bad feeling he knows what they are. For some reason his annoyance melts as he thinks about it. He’s definitely drunk, he probably thinks he’s sending them to someone else.  
  
_< dude this is jace stop sending me fucking nudes_  
  
A few seconds pass, and Jace’s phone remains silent. Then Sebastian sends him another snap; Jace taps on it. A weird jolt goes through him; Sebastian’s lips are around two of his fingers, his dark eyes looking up at his phone. The caption reads: _I kno who u are._  
  
Fuck.  
  
Jace doesn’t want to interrogate the weird feeling in his stomach. Sebastian was his _stepbrother_ for three years, for god’s sake. Why he’s doing this now, Jace doesn’t know, but it’s _wrong_ and should feel wrong too, but it doesn’t have the queasiness and terror he’d associate with like, accidentally walking in on Clary in the bathroom. (It had happened, the other way around, and they’d both screamed and avoided each other for days).  
  
_< stop it_  
  
Sebastian sends another snap. Jace knows it probably isn’t an apology, and closes out the app and turns off wifi, throwing his phone under his pillow. After a few minutes of trying to think about Dickens and failing, he goes to the bathroom and gets a drink of water. It’s lukewarm and doesn’t do much to dispel the vague feeling of existential dread. He stares long and hard at himself in the mirror—he needs a fucking haircut. He also has way, way more problems than his fucking hair.  
  
He brushes his teeth and tries to focus on the icy mint. _Cool Minty Fresh Blast_ , it’s called. It seems a bit redundant to him. Just call mint toothpaste _mint_ , and spearmint _spearmint_ , and don’t bother with the extra words. Parsimony, that’s what its called. Paring down the redundancy and distraction to get directly to the heart of what’s at hand.  
  
He goes directly to bed, and tries not to think about James Harthouse.  
  
  
  
  
Jace only manages to haul himself out of bed about ten minutes before the bus comes, and it’s a mad dash to throw all his shit together and throw on his practice uniform and eat something that might actually keep him from collapsing on the field. When he’s safely on the bus, thoroughly out of breath, he realizes he’s forgotten his Hard Times book on his desk. Mr. Starkweather is a fucking stickler for having the book in class—he’ll have to ask Sebastian to borrow his—  
  
The thought of talking to Sebastian right now fills Jace with dread and he puts the idea firmly out of mind. He’ll ask Raj instead—he’s in the other section, and Jace let him copy his chem homework last week.  
  
Practice is grueling, but the ache in his muscles and the strain of pushing himself to his limits keeps his mind occupied, so Jace is strangely grateful. It’s dark and gloomy, and mists on and off the entire time, and he can’t help but feel the weather is playing along with his mood.  
  
Once as practice is over, Jace is sore and muddy and wants nothing more than a fucking shower. He pushes his way to the locker room, peeling off his shirt and grabbing his towel out of his locker and heading to the nearest shower, yanking the shower curtain closed behind him. The water isn’t warm, per se, but it still feels good and Jace really doesn’t want to leave.  
  
He does anyway, shutting off the water wrapping the towel around his waist and trying not to feel bad about dripping water everywhere. He grabs his clothes from his locker and realizes he only has one sock—how exactly did he manage that?—and takes them to the changing rooms. Once he’s emerged he feels slightly more human, though still sore, and goes to his locker to grab his backpack and soccer bag and grab a drink of water.  
  
“There you are.” Jace looks up just in time to see Sebastian approaching. Fuck—so much for avoiding him. He’s wearing a black overcoat that looks like it cost more than tuition at St. Xavier’s for an entire semester, and it looks good on him. Everything does. Jace doesn’t want to think about it. “Didn’t you get my text? I asked what you wanted for breakfast, but since you didn’t reply I got you a fucking Egg McMuffin. Serves you right.”  
  
“You shouldn’t have,” Jace says. Thinking about how much money Sebastian spends on him makes his head hurt. “I already ate.”  
  
“There’s a coupon on the app, relax.” Sebastian pulls a McDonalds bag out of his backpack—sleek and black, made of real leather and puts it in Jace’s hands. “I got you coffee, but I was hung over so I drank it.”  
  
Jace mmm-hmms without comment, but doesn’t open the bag. Sebastian’s hair is wet—probably from the rain—and sticks to his forehead in metallic-colored strands. His uniform shirt is buttoned up almost all the way, and his dress shoes are immaculate.  
  
“Earth to Jace.” Sebastian’s eyebrows are raised. “Is something wrong? Did a soccer ball hit you in the head and kill your remaining three brain cells?”  
  
Jace glares at him. “Very funny, asshole.”  
  
Sebastian shrugs. “Well, if you’re not going to eat the McMuffin, I will.”  
  
Jace gives it back without hesitation. Sebastian looks at him quizzically. “ _Is_ something wrong?”  
  
Jace gestures vaguely, and starts down the hall towards his regular locker, which is isolated by the fire escape where only the smokers hang out. This isn’t a conversation he particularly wants overheard, especially by anyone on the team. “Nothing. Well, not nothing.”  
  
“That’s extremely specific, Jace.”  
  
“Look, I just—you do know I’m not...into you, right? Not like...not like that?”  
  
Sebastian looks at Jace without any real comprehension and Jace’s mounting anxiety spikes. Fuck—if Jace is wrong, or if he’s right, if Sebastian gets upset—it’ll be the end of his first and only friendship at this godforsaken school. He’s not sure he can take that, not right now.  
  
“I know. Look, if you don’t want me talking about other guys, I get it—“  
  
“It’s not that!” Jace’s voice raises, attracting a few stray looks. He forces himself to stay calm, and lowers his voice even further. “It’s—sending me pictures and shit—“  
  
Comprehension dawns very rapidly on Sebastian’s face and he grabs his phone out of his pocket. A second later his hand goes to his temple, as if he’s putting his head in his hands. “I was a bit...drunk,” he says at last.  
  
“It’s okay.” Jace feels a strange wave of relief, as if he’s been stayed from execution. “I should have probably realized they were meant for someone else.”  
  
“You have to be at least eight inches to get nudes from me, and let’s be real, you’re not cutting it—ow!” The last is as Jace punches his shoulder, not very hard. His expression falters, just a little. “You’re still on for Halloween tomorrow, aren’t you?”  
  
Jace grins. “Unless you’re still sold on being Harley Quinn.”  
  
Sebastian gives him a lazy smile. “No promises.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wee warning for bad drinking choices as well as the blanket warning for everything awful that comes out of Sebastian’s mouth. If you’re emetophobic there is lots of mention of vomiting, but nothing too graphic.
> 
> Enjoy?

“Jace?” Clary’s voice floats down the hall. “Jace, do you know if we have any googly eyes?”  
  
Jace looks up from his conversation with Alec, where Alec has been trying to explain the challenges of lighting design, and he’s understanding none of it. It’s a lazy Saturday morning, and it’s way too lazy for thinking. “Googly eyes?”  
  
“Yeah.” Clary looks pretty stressed out; there’s glitter all over her face and a bit of Elmer’s glue in her hair. She braces her hands on the frame of Jace’s bedroom door. “I’m making my ladybug costume, and we’re out of googly eyes.”  
  
Jace puts down his phone and gets up. “I don’t know if we have any, but I can help look. Where do you think mom would keep them?”  
  
Clary gives a helpless shrug. “I’ve tried the craft closet and her studio, but I couldn’t find any.”  
  
“They can’t be that expensive. We can go to the dollar store and get a pack.” It’s only a few blocks away—ten minute walk at most. Jace has nothing better to do—in fact, anything beats sitting around in his room stewing in self-pity.  
  
Clary makes a face. “Mom says I can’t go to the fucking store alone.”  
  
Jace raises his eyebrows. That’s a little extreme—she’s almost sixteen, and their neighborhood is safe if nothing else. And most importantly, Clary knows how to watch her back. “Well, you won’t be alone. We’ll text mom and tell her we’re going.”  
  
“And get yelled at when we get back.” Clary looked relieved. “Okay, I’ll go get my shoes. Should you text mom, or should I?”  
  
“You text mom. I’ll get my wallet.” Clary is more likely to be met with positive reception, but he doesn’t want to say that out loud. He also has to tell Alec he’ll message him back later. He jams his feet into his boots and makes for the door, where Clary is waiting.  
  
“She hasn’t replied,” Clary says. “You still want to go?”  
  
“Yeah. It’s just a few minutes. She knows where we are.” Jace makes sure his keys are in his pocket. “Race you there?”  
  
Clary gives him a baleful look. “Not when I know you do sprints every morning and the last time I had a proper workout was when Izzy dragged me to the gym.”  
  
Jace smiles. “Fair enough. Though as I recall, you were a lot faster when we were kids.” She also beat him arm wrestling a fair bit. Jace was pretty sure his childhood growing up with Clary made him far more secure in his masculinity than he would have been otherwise. He still doesn’t see any reason Clary shouldn’t be more athletic than he is, if she wanted.   
  
“Still not racing you.” Clary shuts the door behind them, tucking her phone into her pocket. “Thanks for coming with me.”   
  
“You think this is altrusitic? The dollar store has those animal crackers on sale, and I’m out.”  
  
Clary laughs. “Guys and food. Got it.” They walk in silence a few seconds, then she says, “So you’re hanging out with Jonathan?”  
  
Jace’s stomach skips a metaphorical beat. “Uh, yeah. I am.” He doesn’t know what else to say. Ask her not to tell Jocelyn? He doesn’t want to say it but if she’s upset about it— “How did you know?”  
  
She reads his expression. “Don’t worry. Camille told Raphael who told some freshman who told Izzy who told me. I...I didn’t tell mom.”  
  
The bands around Jace’s chest loosen. “Thanks.”  
  
“Don’t mention it.” Clary glances away briefly. Her hair is flying madly around her face in the wind, and she bats at it in mild annoyance. “What’s he like now?”   
  
Clary is just old enough to remember Jonathan from the brief years Jocelyn and Val were married. He was different then—quiet, almost silent, with a strange temper. Jace and Clary hadn’t liked him much, considering he was the interloper and always begged to be in Jace and Clary’s shared room with them, which they had found even more annoying.  
  
He had also set Clary’s hair on fire. Jocelyn and cried and screamed and thrown Val out the next day.   
  
“Uh, different.” Jace gives a sort of flat laugh at the understatement. “I don’t know. I...I don’t think he’s going to set you on fire again, if that’s any consolation.”  
  
Clary grins. “That’s good. I like not being on fire.” Her grin softens. “Are you going to tell mom?”  
  
“You kidding me?” Jace wrinkles his brow. “She’d kill me and bury my body where no one will ever find it.”  
  
Clary rolls her eyes. “Don’t be defeatist. She’d at least resurrect you to kill you again.” She frowns. “Though it’ll be a lot worse if she finds out and you don’t tell her.”

And that is just one of the many truths Jace is avoiding thinking about, at that very moment. “Okay but while we’re playing truth or dare, and don’t freak out on me, but are you and Isabelle a...thing?”  
  
Clary’s head jerks up and her eyes go wide. “What—how—“  
  
“Camille,” Jace says darkly. “Looks like she really knows everything about everyone.”  
  
Clary is turning the color of her hair. “I—I just sort of—I don’t know, I just I like her and—it sort of started and I don’t really know—I don’t even know if it’s a real thing or—“  
  
“Hey, hey it’s okay.” Jace stops short and puts a hand gently on her shoulder. She looks close to tears—it must be serious. He definitely should have found a more delicate way of asking. “Don’t freak out. I wouldn’t have asked if I was going to be weird about it, okay? Look, you know Jocelyn will be delighted if you’re not into guys, she’s been planning to murder your potential boyfriends for years.”  
  
Clary gives a shaky laugh. “Yeah. Of course.”  
  
“It’s great you and Izzy are that close. Robert and Maryse’s split can’t have been easy on her. I know it’s hit Alec hard. If you guys decide to....date, then that’s cool, and if not, that’s cool too.”  
  
Alec didn’t talk to him about any of it anymore, but he barely talked to Jace at all. And the divorce had been quite a few years ago. It was pure coincidence Luke already worked in the town Maryse moved to after finding out about Robert’s affair, and Jace tried desperately not to wish Alec had gone with Maryse instead of Izzy. Clary hadn’t even been that close to Izzy as kids, preferring to spend all her time with Simon. It was petty and stupid and he hated himself for it, but he fucking _missed_ Alec.  
  
Not that he felt Alec was missing him at all.  
  
Clary wipes at her eyes in a way she probably thought he couldn’t see, and smiles. “Thanks.”  
  
“I’m serious.” Jace smiles at her until he knows she’s seen. “Look, I hope I didn’t stress you out. And I promise I won’t say anything until you’re ready to do it yourself. But talk to me if you want, okay?”  
  
Clary nods. “Okay.” She checks her phone, grimaces. “Mom’s gonna be back soon, we should get going.”  
  
Right. Googly eyes. Jace had forgotten about those. “Race you?”  
  
  


  
  
“There you are,” Jocelyn breathes as soon as they step in the door. She pulls Clary into a hug, and Clary makes an embarrassed face. “I was worried.”  
  
“Mom, we texted you where we were going.” Clary manages to sound both chiding and fond, qualities Jace certainly doesn’t manage. “I needed googly eyes for my costume and Jace took me to get some, okay?”  
  
Jocelyn smiled, though her eyes don’t look happy when they flick Jace’s way. “Okay.”  
  
“Someone forgot to charge her phone,” Luke interjects with a wry smile, holding up Jocelyn’s old android.  
  
Clary extricates herself from her mother’s arms. “I’m gonna go spraypaint my costume outside, okay?”  
  
Jocelyn nods. “Be careful with vapors.” As soon as she’s gone and the door is shut behind her, she says, “Jace, are you going somewhere tonight?”  
  
Jace nods. “Yeah. A thing with the team.”  
  
It’s a bald-faced lie. He wasn’t even formally invited to the soccer team party, which stung way more than he wanted to admit. And he and Sebastian have been planning Halloween for a while, anyway.  
  
“Would you be okay to take Clary and Izzy to their party? There’s going to be a lot of upperclassmen and I’m worried about them going alone.”  
  
“I...” Jace cuts off. “I’m sure they’ll be okay alone. Lots of people are there, their friends—”  
  
Jocelyn shakes her head. “Jace, they’re not even sixteen. You know as well as I do we can’t take any chances. It’s just one evening—“  
  
“You’re kidding me,” Jace says. His chest and stomach have tightened uncomfortably—he knows he’s pissed off, and he can’t stop himself. “I told you a week ago I had plans for Halloween. You said it was _fine_. And now you’re expecting me to escort Clary the entire night without even an hour’s notice?”  
  
Jocelyn’s expression tightens. “Jace—you see your soccer friends all the time. Clary’s too young to go out alone, can’t you just—“  
  
“Jocelyn.” Luke’s voice is gentle. “Jace is right. I’ll take the night off, try to stay out of her hair.”  
  
“Luke we—“ Jocelyn’s eyes dart to Jace, and she lowers her voice. “We can’t afford that. Otherwise I’d take the night off and go with her myself.” She turns back to Jace, and the concern is gone. “It’s just one night. I’m sure your friends will understand.”  
  
Jace thinks of having to text Sebastian to say _sorry, I’ve got to escort my little sister, can’t do tonight_ , and his anger flares. “No. Clary is old enough to go with her friends.”  
  
Jocelyn’s eyes flash. “It’s dangerous out there. She could get hurt—who knows who she could run across.”  
  
“Then why don’t you tell her to stay home?” Jace demands. The edge of anger is wearing away and he knows he’s going to regret this later, but he’s gone too far to back down now. “See how she likes that. But you’re not going to, are you? She’s always been your favorite. Fine. But I’m not playing babysitter this time.”  
  
“Jace.” Jocelyn sounds pissed now, and it’s making Jace pissed off again too. “Clary isn’t—look, Luke and I won’t be able to give you a ride, why don’t you just go along for a little while and we’ll drive you to the rest of your party after she comes home—”  
  
“I don’t need a ride.” The fact that she doesn’t even _deny_ that Clary is the favorite makes it very easy not to regret this. He pulls out his phone from his pocket without thinking, and pulls up iMessage to tell Sebastian he’ll need to pick him up.  
  
“Where did you get that?” Jocelyn’s voice is raised, and Jace can’t wince. He fucked up, but he’s pissed and Jocelyn is treating him like her secretary. “That’s not the phone we bought you. Jace—“  
  
“Whoring myself out to strangers on the internet,” he snaps, already starting to his room with full intent to slam the door behind him. “Tell Clary I’ll have my phone on and she can text me any time.”

Jocelyn reaches out as if to grab his arm but Jace slips into his room and slams the door faster than she can counter. There’s no lock, but unless Luke takes off the doorknob he’s pretty sure he can keep it shut. His heart is hammering in his chest—he’s never spoken to Jocelyn this way, and he’s not even sure he likes it. He feels awful, but he’s also too pissed off to apologize, and he’s sure as hell not going to fold and take Clary to her party after all.  
  
With slightly shaking hands he messages Sebastian.  
  
> _can you pick me up at my place?_  
  
A few seconds, then the typing bubble appears.   
  
< _I can be there in 15 min_  
  
He doesn’t question whether Jocelyn will be pissed, he doesn’t question anything. Jace is afraid the edge of anger will dull again, bring back the fear that he’s fucked up, so he paces around his room, glaring at the empty walls. Jocelyn promised they’d try to find him a keyboard, but it never happened. Clary got her violin, of course, because of course she did—but pianos were more expensive than violins, and who was he to demand anything, anyway—  
  
“Jace.” It’s Luke’s voice, from outside the door. “Jace, will you please open the door.”  
  
Jace thinks about refusing, but a few strides and he wrenches the door open. At first he thought Luke was alone but he catches sight of Jocelyn over his shoulder and can’t help but scowl. “Yes?”  
  
Luke takes a deep breath. “Jace, if there’s anything you need to tell us—“  
  
“There’s nothing.” Jace’s voice comes out harder than he expected. “I’m eighteen. I’ll be out of your house soon. There’s no need for either of you to pretend to care.”  
  
Luke blinks and hurt flickers quickly across his face. It’s gone as soon as its there, but Jace sees it, and he regrets his words instantly. “I see.” He pauses, as if looking for words. He looks tired—when was the last time he hadn’t worked an extra shift?   
  
“Don’t speak to Luke like that,” Jocelyn says.  
  
“Jocelyn.” Luke’s voice is calm. To Jace, he says, “If you ever do need to talk—“  
  
As if picking the worst possible moment, the doorbell rings. Anxiety spikes through Jace—he thought Sebastian would just text him when he was in the neighborhood, not come to the fucking _door_ —  
  
Jocelyn goes to answer and Jace’s first instinct is to push past her and Luke and run out before either of them can answer it, but he’s rooted to the spot, and Luke played too much football for that to possibly work.   
  
“Jonathan.” It’s Jocelyn’s voice; she sounds aghast. Panicked, even. She hates Sebastian almost as much as she does Val. “What are you—?“  
  
“I go by Sebastian now, actually.” Sebastian’s voice is sharp, and completely calm. “I’m here to pick up Jace. Is he here?”  
  
Jace and Luke make for the door in unison—Luke knows just as well as Jace does that this could go very bad very quickly. Jace’s heart is beating out a frantic _fuck fuck fuck_ —he should have told Sebastian to meet him at the nearest McDonalds, or something—  
  
“Jace?” Jocelyn’s voice is disbelieving. “How did you find our house? I thought I made it clear to your father neither of you were welcome anywhere near my family.”  
  
Sebastian’s expression twists into something tense and angry. “I think you made that very clear to everyone. What were your exact words? ‘You can keep that monster away from me and my daughter.’ Well, I’m here to pick up Jace. You might remember him—you did give birth to him, after all.”  
  
Jace pushes past Luke and Jocelyn before either can react, grabbing Sebastian by the arm and pushing him back out the door. Jocelyn grabs at him again and shouts his name but he evades her with ease, all but dragging Sebastian to his own car. “What the hell was that?” Jace demands. “Why the fuck didn’t you text me? I could have just come outside—you know how Jocelyn gets—“  
  
“She’s a bitch,” Sebastian says, his voice calm, but he’s breathing harder than normal. He presses the ignition and the car hums to life; he starts off down the street at a speed greater than the speed limit. There’s a muscle jumping in his jaw.  
  
“Don’t call my mother a bitch,” Jace snaps.  
  
“She doesn’t even think of you as her son,” Sebastian replies, and the bitterness in his tone surprises Jace. “Why did you need me to pick you up, anyway?”  
  
Jace’s sudden anger subsides, and he sighs, glancing out the window as the neighborhood whizzed by like paint sliding down a canvas. “She wanted me to take Clary to her party instead of going out tonight. I got pissed off. It was a mistake.”  
  
“A mistake to stand up for yourself for once?” Sebastian’s eyebrows raise. “Jace, you asked for one night out. It wouldn’t kill her to ask someone else take care of Clary for once.”  
  
 _Who would she ask?_ Jace’s mind argues back, but he ignores it. There’ll be hell to pay when he gets back home, but for now he doesn’t have to think about it. Sebastian’s pale skin is oddly phosphorescent against the black of his t-shirt and jeans and the black faux-leather interior of the car.   
  
“You’re right,” he says. There’s a cool breeze rustling his hair—he feels oddly free, the anxiety and tension of the past minutes fading to a pleasurable sensation of rebellion. His phone is vibrating in his pocket, and he ignores it even though he knows it’s Jocelyn. “Do you have our costumes?”  
  
“At home. I cut nipple holes in yours.”  
  
Jace laughs. “Would they be Batnipples?”  
  
Sebastian smiles lazily. “Batnips has a certain ring.”  
  
Something clinks in the back seat and Jace cranes around to look. “Is that tequila?”  
  
Sebastian’s smile turns to a grin. “And some whiskey. Whatever had the most alcohol in it.”  
  
Jace grabs a bottle—it’s tequila—and twists it open and takes a sip. It tastes pretty awful, but Jace doesn’t know enough about alcohol to know if he should be disgusted by it or not. He doesn’t feel anything other than a burn in his throat, so he drinks some more.  
  
  
  
  
  
“Are you going to remember where you parked?”  
  
“Relax, Jace.” Sebastian grins, and the dark lipstick on his lips makes his teeth look sharp and bright. His dark eyes flash with excitement; his pace is alive with energy, and he almost seems to dance down the dark sidewalk. The green dye in his hair looks strange, especially in the street’s lamplight, but in dark dress pants and a maroon dress shirt and black vest, he looks almost as slim and pale as the Joker himself. “The club is just a few blocks from here. Unless your poor little feet can’t handle the walk—“  
  
“I can bench-press you,” Jace reminds him. His flimsy Batman cape had slipped over one shoulder; he righted it. The rest of the costume hadn’t fit—he was slightly proud to note it was too small in the shoulders—so he wore the mask and shitty cape with a regular grey t-shirt and jeans instead. For some reason he feels _good_ , without being able to think of why. “On a good day I could bench-press two of you.”  
  
“Oh Bats, please, sweep me off my feet.” Sebastian adopts a surprisingly canny Joker voice, as if he’s been practicing. “Your strong, manly hands on my virginal body is too much for me to resist.”  
  
Jace laughs. “The Joker would definitely say that.”  
  
Sebastian grins, but doesn’t reply. A few minutes later they reached a flickering neon sign that read “PANDEMONIUM,” affixed over a tall doorway. The front of the building had been painted entirely black, and Jace can hear pounding music from meters away. It seemed a bit strange to name a club after the capital of hell in _Paradise Lost_ , but maybe Jace was reading too much into it. A line of restless-looking people snaked around the corner; a few people cast them looks as Sebastian led Jace to the entrance.  
  
“Don’t you think we should wait in line?” Jace began, but Sebastian just smiled and grabbed his wrist, leading him to the head of the queue.  
  
“Sebastian, is that you?”   
  
The tall, heavyset man at the head of the line smiles widely. He has dark-lashed eyes, a dark beard and a handsome smile, his head shaved close. Sebastian gives him a distinctly dirty smile. The man—Jace has to assume he’s the bouncer—says something to his partner Jace doesn’t catch, and the other man smiles, eyes flicking up and down the lines of Sebastian’s body. Jace shifts closer until he’s at Sebastian’s shoulder.  
  
“This your boyfriend?”  
  
“Unfortunately not.” Sebastian grins at Jace. “He’s hopelessly heterosexual.”  
  
Jace flushes for some reason he can’t fathom, but says nothing. Was it the tequila? Maybe drinking before coming here wasn’t the best idea. Except—well, Jace is quite sure he can handle alcohol. He’s not really drank much before, but he has a good metabolism, and that’s what it’s about, right?  
  
The bouncer jerks his head towards the door in an easy motion. “Just don’t cause trouble.”  
  
“No promises.” Sebastian has a way of saying it that sounds both coy and bored. His fingers curl around Jace’s wrist and he pulls him inside. Sound and heat hit Jace like a physical wall. The lights are kaleidoscopic and constantly shifting, multicolored and low-lit. A heavy, throbbing beat resounds in his skull, and it smells of heat and sweat and perfume or cologne. Under the blue light Sebastian’s Joker makeup looks skull-like; he grins at Jace and pulls him towards the crowd.  
  
“How did you get in?” Jace tries to ask, but over the thundering of the music he can scarcely hear himself, let alone assume Sebastian can hear him. Sebastian weaves through the thick mass of bodies with apparent ease, but Jace nearly catches an elbow to the face more than once. The heat and press of bodies is suffocating but he eventually breaks free, trying not to breathe hard as Sebastian maneuvers his way to the bar. He has a certain level of adrenaline like he does during a soccer game, and the idea that he _shouldn’t be here_ adds a certain thrill. There’s a lot of people around him—he can’t even estimate how many—many of them are dressed up for Halloween as he and Sebastian are.  
  
Sebastian reappears at his elbow and pushes a shot into each of his hands. “Bottoms up, Batsy,” he says into Jace’s ear, then downs his own in two graceful movements. Jace’s phone vibrates a few times in his pocket—Jocelyn again—and he tosses the first shot back. He coughs a bit as it goes down and definitely feels a bit light-headed after swallowing, but he drinks the second one too. He barely has time to put the empty glasses on the nearest surface before Sebastian grabs his hand and pulls him into the crowd and Jace nearly stumbles—fuck, he must be getting drunk. Or maybe he already is. Either way, he puts it out of mind, and dances.  
  
It’s weird at first—he’s never really danced before, except that one time Clary and Simon dragged him to their swing dance thing, and that had been pretty miserable. For him, at least. But no one around him seems to know what they’re doing either, and Jace doesn’t feel self-conscious at all, and Sebastian grins at him and with his makeup the smile seems to split his entire face. He jerks his head pointedly—Jace makes a confused face and he leans in and says, loud enough to be heard over the music, “She’s checking you out.”  
  
Jace turns, mostly in surprise, and is even more surprised when the girl next to him smiles and gives a little wave. She’s gorgeous, and sexy, and definitely knows how to dance way better than Jace does, and it’s probably good he’s possibly drunk because otherwise he’d just have stared at her in mild terror.  
  
“Hey,” she says, leaning in to be heard. “I’m Maia.” She pulls an apologetic face. “If that’s your boyfriend, I’m so sorry.”  
  
“What? No, no, he’s not my boyfriend.” Jace smiles—she has a warmth to her smile most people don’t. She’s also very much out of his league.  
  
“Bi?” She smiles again when he doesn’t contradict her. “Me too. So is that Batman mask just for show, or are you actually a nerd?”  
  
“A fake one,” Jace half-shouts, and she throws back her head and laughs. In step with her, his movements feel more natural—he feels relaxed, even. Even if he can barely hear what she’s saying, he sees why people go to clubs.   
  
“What’s your name?” She shouts back. The song changes and a few people yell; Jace certainly doesn’t recognize it, but Maia seems to, already perfectly in-step.   
  
“Jace.” He tries to mirror her, and fails. The beat is faster and his movements clumsier, but he doesn’t care, and Maia doesn’t seem to mind either. “Or Batman.”  
  
“Okay Jace, Batman, whatever, I’m gonna be real with you, I’m not really down to fuck. That okay with you?”  
  
“Yeah,” Jace shouts back. It’s the truth—having sex with a stranger, especially when he...isn’t one-hundred percent how real sex that isn’t porn works, is definitely a very bad idea. “I’m here to dance.”  
  
Maia grins. “Good. Otherwise I was gonna have to kick your ass.”  
  
That’s not an idle threat—Jace is pretty sure she could.  The idea isn’t entirely unappealing. He hopes he didn’t say that out loud.   
  
They dance for a while; Jace isn’t sure how long, the changing songs seamless and his phone forgotten in his pocket. Maia tells him she’s studying first year marine biology, and she’s home for the weekend to visit a friend, who’s somewhere in the crowd. Jace has nothing interesting to add to that, so he tells her about soccer instead. She plays hockey. They both like the Arkham games; she calls the Suicide Squad Joker a cunt and Jace has to laugh at the thought of Sebastian’s joy at offending someone, though he doesn’t think Maia is his target audience.  
  
She’s halfway between shouting out a story Jace can only half hear when a girl with dyed-grey hair and a sour expression appears at Maia’s side. They exchange words, and Maia turns back to Jace with an apologetic expression.  
  
“Gotta go,” she says. She’s close enough he smells her perfume, and it almost smells spicy  like Old Spice, with something citrus-y. Jace likes it. “You got a number?”  
  
“What?”  
  
Maia rolls her eyes and shoves her phone at Jace. He types in his number, checks it twice, then hands it back to her before he can drop it. She smiles and waves, then is gone.   
  
Jace looks around to find Sebastian, and finds him dancing with a tall guy probably twice his age. Well, dancing might not be the word. Actually if they had been horizontal, he definitely would have had a word for it. Sebastian’s head tilts back and his lips part and the tall guy puts something on his tongue. Sebastian swallows and Jace turns away quickly—he’s not quite sure what he’s supposed to do now, and he definitely doesn’t want to start bothering random girls—  
  
“There you are.” Jace jumps; Sebastian’s voice is rough and extremely loud in his ear. His arms wrap around Jace’s shoulders and he steers Jace towards the bar, his body is hot against Jace’s back. “I need another drink.”  
  
He orders....well, Jace isn’t sure what he orders, but the bartender gives him four of it. Sebastian grabs one and downs it quickly, and Jace swats his hand away from the second.   
  
“You really don’t need more,” he says, and it’s true. Sebastian looks pretty hammered—and no wonder, given how little he must weigh. Did he even eat before they went out? Jace doesn’t remember. He grabs two of the shots and drinks both of them, then manages to somehow gulp down the third before Sebastian can.  It tastes how Jace imagines lighter fluid would.  
  
Sebastian grabs Jace’s arm and pulls him back onto the floor. Jace stumbles after him, feeling very unsteady.    
  
“Dance with me,” Sebastian says, and Jace can’t tell if he’s shouting or if he’s that close, or if Jace can really hear him at all. Sebastian moves against him, nimble and sensuous, their chests touching; Jace can’t help but move in sync. The air around him is suddenly hot and sweaty, and he tastes salt on his lips that tastes like sweat. The floor is spinning and Sebastian’s body is warm and firm against his own; Jace’s hands find bare skin and it’s hot to the touch. Sebastian groans and Jace watches his lips part in fascination. The beat pounds between them like a pulsing heart and there’s a frission spreading over Jace’s skin that trails Sebastian’s hands on his back.  
  
“Jace—god.” Sebastian’s voice is barely audible but it’s all Jace can hear. He leans into the heat and Sebastian’s lips part, silky-hot. He tastes—Jace doesn’t know what he tastes, but he breathes Sebastian in, feels the gel and fake dye in Sebastian’s hair flake off on his fingers, the press of his lithe body against Jace’s own. They’re still moving, with a molasses sort of urgency, as if the world might halt if they parted. He’s suddenly aware of Sebastian pulling him; his back hits a door and they’re in a filthy bathroom, more dimly lit than the club itself but blessedly quiet, though Jace’s skull still pounds along to the beat. Sebastian makes a noise against Jace’s mouth and his lips tingle; Sebastian’s tongue touches his and Jace makes a noise, too.   
  
Bright points of pain flare on Jace’s back and some remote part of him realizes its Sebastian’s nails under his t-shirt. Jace’s hands go to Sebastian’s waist and he feels almost delicate in Jace’s hands; Sebastian’s leg lifts and curls around the back of Jace’s knees, and as his head tilts back Jace can see his whole chin, his cheeks, are smeared with red, lips bright and wet—  
  
The door slams open with a _BANG_ and they break apart; Jace lets go of Sebatian’s waist and he staggers.  
  
“Oh my god,” says a voice, a guy’s voice. “Oh my god its—fuck, its Batman and the Joker that’s—fucking hilarious—“ Whatever he says next is lost to a bright flash that makes Jace blink and nearly stumble.   
  
“Asshole!” Sebastian sounds pissed. Jace has no idea what about. The room is spinning again. Sebastian shoves into a guy and grabs at his wrist. “Delete that you fucking— _asshole_!”  
  
The guy shouts something back and there’s a clatter as a phone falls the floor. Sebastian is yelling and so is the other guy—Jace grabs Sebastian’s shoulders just as the guy’s fist sails by, glancing off Sebastian’s cheek. Sebastian snarls and tears from Jace’s grip and slams his own fist into the guy’s nose. Blood spurts and Jace feels the powerful urge to vomit. The guy grabs his bleeding nose and stumbles back. Sebastian jumps at him, grabbing his collar and pulling back as if to take another swing—  
  
Jace grabs the back of his shirt and it tears but it keeps Sebastian back long enough for the guy to backpedal out the door. “Fucking psycho!” he yells before the door closes. Sebastian’s breathing hard, his shirt bloody and torn. His mouth is bleeding, and Jace can’t stop staring at it, and fuck, he wants to vomit.   
  
“What was that about?”  
  
Sebastian gestures angrily. “Fucking pervert took a picture. Asshole,” he says again, as if for emphasis. It certainly sounds very emphatic. The room was still very much spinning and Jace wants to sit down very badly. He sits down. Sebastian suddenly seems very tall.  
  
“I don’t feel good,” Jace says. Sebastian drops down to Jace’s level, looking him over with wide eyes. His pupils are so large—or is that just his eyes? Jace can’t tell. Either way he doesn’t look good either, less pale than pasty, his skin beaded with sweat. Or is that the makeup? He’s got blood and lipstick smeared over the lower half of his face, and he licks his lips— “You didn’t have to hit him.”  
  
Sebastian grins, and Jace can’t help but notice his teeth are very bright, small and sharp. “It felt good.” He looks at Jace hungrily, and Jace feels a thrill that could be fear or something else. Then his stomach heaves, and he breaks away to stop himself from throwing up.  
  
“I’ll help you up.” He grabs Jace’s hands and his skin is startlingly cold. Jace unfolds his legs and Sebastian pulls, though his efforts aren’t much help. The tiles spin around him and Jace has to grab the wall for support.  
  
“I think I need some air,” Jace manages to gasp out, and every word is a fight against the powerful urge to vomit. He shakes off Sebastian’s hand—his knuckles are bloodied—and heads unsteadily for the door. He pushes his way through the crowd, the thought of the doors and freedom and fresh air the only things pressing him forward. Someone’s elbow glances off his cheek and he winces, the music nightmarishly loud and the throbbing in his skull almost unbearable—  
  
His feet hit the pavement outside and the brewing hurricane in his skull calms in gratitude. He staggers a few feet and grabs onto a parking meter for support. The car. He can barely remember what it looks like, let alone where it might be. He remembers something vaguely about being too drunk for it, but can’t remember quite what.  “Where’s the--“ Jace breaks off, grabbing onto a street sign as his stomach gave an almighty heave, a horrible wave of acid nausea pushing up his throat. He coughs out thin bile onto the concrete.   
  
Sebastian’s laughing at him, skull-like in his Joker makeup and blood. “Jace you’re so...” he breaks off again, laughter taking an almost hysterical edge. “You’re fucking wasted.”  
  
Jace’s only rebuttal is “you’re wasted too,” but before he can say it he vomits again. Sebastian’s laughter is extremely annoying but also extremely painful, like a sharp spike driving through his skull. Jace wishes he would just shut up, just shut the fuck _up_ , just let Jace have some fucking _peace_ before another wave of nausea takes him.  
  
“Oh my god,” says Sebastian, in a way that is extremely stupid, even for him. “Oh my god, fuck, you’re like, gonna die here, dude.”  
  
“Fuck you,” Jace manages to say. The world is wobbling on its axis, or at least Sebastian is. Jace can’t be sure if Sebastian is stumbling or if he’s the unsteady one. He shakes his head--big fucking mistake. When he’s done vomiting into the grate, he can make out Sebastian attempting to pull off his shirt and failing miserably.  
  
“It’s fucking hot in here,” Sebastian murmurs, then collapses. It’s not a graceful fall--he lands like a sack of potatoes, his phone clattering a few feet and his face hitting the ground hard. For a moment Jace wants to laugh, thinking he’s tripped, but the urge wears off quickly. He’s not moving and--more importantly, not saying anything.  
  
Holy fuck. He must be dead. Jace is pretty sure nothing short of death could ever shut him the fuck up. Jace pokes at him, weakly, and he doesn’t move. His skin is super white--not that that’s new--and he looks weird. His hand is cold.  
  
 _Fuck_.   
  
Jace struggles to free his phone from his pocket, stabbing at the screen with his finger when it won’t turn on. Must be dead. Of course it was fucking dead. Jace looks around--it’s dark. Nothing is familiar. The location of the something--the car--is a long-forgotten memory. Jace’s chest feels crushingly tight, making him want to vomit, or even burst into tears like he’s five years old. _Shit. Fuck_. Sebastian’s phone is lying on the pavement. Jace fumbles for it, noting vaguely that the screen didn’t crack in his fall, and after a few tries manages to press the home button. It brings up the passcode screen, and Jace swears. He needs to call—who does he need to call? 911.   
  
He considers calling for help, but a wild survey of his surroundings reveals absolutely no one. After a few seconds of panicked searching through his pockets, Jace has a thought and grabs Sebastian’s hand off the sidewalk, pressing his thumb to the home button.  
  
It unlocks with a click.  
  
Jace swears in relief, his hands shaking so much it’s difficult to navigate to the call button. Is Sebastian even breathing—? He forgot to check, he should have checked that first. In a panic, he leans down and listens. The movement almost makes him vomit, but he can see Sebastian’s chest rising and falling.  
  
He dials 9, 1, 1 with extreme effort. The phone rings, and a voice answers. A woman, by the sound of it. _Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?_   
  
“Help,” Jace says.  
  
  
  
  
Jace vomits on the way to the hospital, then when they reach the hospital, and again when he’s directed to the waiting room. The attendants, looking tired and unimpressed, let him lie down on the bench and don’t make him return the thin blanket the paramedics gave him. It’s scratchy and grey. His head hurts. He lost his Batman costume at some point in the night, but can’t fathom when. He looks at the grey texture of the wall, runs his fingers over it, feeling as if his heart might explode. Or his stomach. Whichever comes first. Its warm, and all he wants to do is sleep. There’s a baby screaming, two women chattering nonstop about hemorrhoids or something awful, and some guy yelling that his leg is broken, and it’s so _bright_ Jace’s head aches even more.   
  
All in all, he’s ready to die.  
  
He thinks of the first time he and Sebastian met.  
  
It had been his very fist day at St. Xavier’s. His uniform—cobbled together from Goodwill bins, like Clary’s—was freshly-pressed by Luke, his old backpack  mostly empty on his shoulder. He had some vague notion he was supposed to be finding his locker, but no idea where or how he would find it. Unfamiliar faces and voices clamored around him, the halls endless and identical, like a suburban labyrinth.   
  
“Hey you. Wayland, or whatever your name is.”  
  
Jace turned, on instinct. Behind him stood two guys and a girl, all looking at him with identical looks of dislike. He thought he remembered one of them—a tall, squarish blonde boy with close-cropped hair and a narrow smile. Quinn, the lead offense on St. Xavier’s soccer team. The girl had brown hair and bangs—he thought her name started with an L. Linda?  
  
Before he could say anything Quinn shoved into him, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him none too gently into the nearest locker. Jace was too shocked to react—he wasn’t even sure he knew who this guy was.  
  
“What the hell—?”  
  
“You must think you’re some real hot shit, making the team like that,” Quinn snapped. He looked pissed, real pissed, and Jace had absolutely no clue what he’d done to deserve it. “The guy you kicked off has been on this team since freshman year, and you come in here with your second-tier team and think you own the fucking place?”  
  
Jace could only blink. He hadn’t known the results had been announced—he’d done tryouts only a few weeks ago, before the semester started. “I made the team? Like, the soccer team?”  
  
Quinn’s face went from angry to confused then back to angry. “Yeah, the soccer team, you fucking fruitcake.”  
  
Jace tried to shake him off, but Quinn was holding on too tight. The people onlooking were ogling at the spectacle, not doing anything or moving, and that wasn’t good. “Look, I don’t know what you want from me. I tried out for the team. According to you, I made it. I’m not in charge of anything beyond that.”  
  
Logic and reason, as it turned out, was not what Quinn wanted.  
  
“I _want_ ,” he snarled, jerking Jace so that his head hit the locker door, “you to quit and go back to whatever pathetic little league you came from. You understand me?”  
  
“Pathetic little league?” Jace was pissed off now. His team had won state two years in a row, and he would have given his right foot to see them all again, and he _hated_ private school kids who thought mommy and daddy’s fat pocketbooks made them better, on the field or off it. “Ironic coming from a team with offense I could cut through like swiss cheese.”  
  
Jace had taken a punch before, but it had mostly been an accident of Aline’s hand flying into his face at just the wrong angle during a particularly chaotic scrimmage. While it had left him with a bleeding nose and a roaring headache, it hadn’t prepared him for actually getting punched. Sharp pain shot up his nose and through his skull; he fought to open his eyes, pulling his arms over his head as Quinn pulled back for another hit—  
  
Something slammed into locker beside him and Jace opened his eyes in time to see Quinn’s forehead connect with the royal blue of the locker, and behind him a grinning set of teeth and dark eyes. Sebastian. He hadn’t known who he was at the time, of course, but part of Jace thought they’d recognized each other even then, on some primal level.  
  
The girl—Lindsay?—grabbed his arms and pulled him off Jace’s assailant, and he twisted and jerked in her grasp. Quinn turned, face twisted in anger, and Sebastian managed to deal him a fairly vicious elbow to the head. Jace unfroze and slammed his body into Lindsay’s, knocking her and Sebastian to the ground. Sebastian wriggled out of her grasp and scrambled to his feet, scrawny in comparison to three fit athletes but grinning like a maniac nonetheless.   
  
Jace grabbed at Quinn’s shoulders, trying to wrestle his arms behind his back just as Quinn evaded and grabbed at Sebastian. Sebastian gave a fierce snarl and brought his knee up rather viciously between Quinn’s legs, who shoved him away with a cry of pain—  
  
“What exactly is going on here?”  
  
The five of them all turned in unison to see a very grumpy-looking man in a police uniform coming down the hall. _Fuck_. Jace let go of Quinn and Lindsay let Sebastian out of what looked like a rather painful chokehold. “Well?” he demanded, looking them all over. “Speak up, all of you.”  
  
It was Sebastian who spoke first, no longer fierce and angry but demure, his eyes angled slightly downward. “Quinn hit me, sir. He called me a...a faggot.”  
  
“What?” said Quinn, who had in fact done no such thing. “No, that fucking...psycho and his friend started it, I didn’t attack anyone—!”  
  
The officer scowled. Jace had read the informational package for St. Xavier’s, and if there was one thing they emphasized _ad nauseum_ it was that St. Xavier’s was a ‘safe and welcome space for all’ that had a ‘no-tolerance policy to bullying.’ Jace had to assume this was for potential tuition-payers and donors, not the student body. “Mr. Quinn, is this true?”  
  
“No!” Quinn looked almost scared, staring at Sebastian’s slightly piteous face in horror. “He’s fucking lying, he attacked me—“  
  
“He did, now.” It didn’t sound very credible with all one-twenty pounds of Sebastian sitting on the floor looking slightly morose, nose bleeding just enough to be believable. Jace could have imagined it, but he thought Sebastian had even pretended to wipe away a tear. The officer turned to Jace. “And you are?”  
  
Jace swallowed. “Jace Wayland, sir.”  
  
The officer looked him up and down, as if scanning his (nonexistent) criminal record with his eyes. “I haven’t seen you around here before. Are you new to St. Xavier’s?”  
  
Jace nodded. “It’s my first day.”  
  
“Well, Jace, what do you say happened?”  
  
Sebastian’s dark eyes were on him, boring into him. An entire crowd had amassed behind the officer, and Jace suddenly realized their eyes were all on him.  
  
“Quinn attacked him, sir.” The lie slipped down his throat like icecubes, the first of many. He didn’t comment on the rest—wasn’t sure he wanted to. The sides of Sebastian’s mouth curled upwards, then quickly pushed back down.  
  
Quinn stared between Sebastian and Jace in absolute disbelief and fury. “You bastard,” he snapped. “You absolute little bastards.”  
  
“Mr. Quinn.” The officer extends an arm. “My office. Now, please.”  
  
The two others with Quinn managed to melt into the background as he and the officer started down the hall. The crowd disperses, still mostly silent, though the hall was a riot of whispers. Jace’s head hurt and he felt slightly sick.  
  
“Jace? Is that you?” Sebastian’s voice was full of disbelief. He stood up, ignoring Jace’s quickly outstretched hand, the piteous performance of a few seconds ago completely forgotten. His dark eyes roved over his face, as if trying to peer through the years and see Jace as he’d known him last. “It is, isn’t it? Jocelyn must have moved.”  
  
Jace said, “ _Jonathan_?”  
  
A grin spread over Sebastian’s face. “It is you. Good thing I ran across you when I did—Quinn and his fucking asshole friends weren’t too happy with you. And even if he broke all your ribs and wrote a signed confession, his father would have found a way to make it your fault.” The last was with a fair dose of bitterness. “Enough of him. Where’s your locker? What’s your schedule?”  
  
Jace gave a helpless shrug, relief at least one familiar and potentially friendly face spreading through him like asprin. “I have no idea. I don’t even know where to find out where it is.”  
  
“Still not that bright, I see.” Sebastian elbowed him, not too hard but not exactly gently. Jace glared at him, but took it in stride. “C’mon, I’ll show you. The secretary at student affairs loves me, I’m pretty sure she wants to have my babies or something, which is absolutely disgusting.”  
  
Sebastian showed him to his classes, made fun of him for not knowing where the bathroom was, and advised him on who to absolutely avoid, and who to absolutely avoid pissing off. By the time the next two weeks were over, Jace was going over to his house after school under the guise of practice or a project, or visiting a friend, and after the first month and a half Jocelyn stopped asking too many questions.  
  
He has to get off this bench. He has to know Sebastian is okay.  
  
He pulls of the blanket and tries to roll himself upright. His head throbs and feels cottony, but he forces himself to keep going, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders and fighting his way upright. His stomach feels poisonous but he forces himself across the waiting room, grabbing onto the arms of chairs and even a passing medic on his way to the front desk.  
“I need to see my friend,” Jace says. He’s leaning on the front desk with all of his weight, clutching the blanket to his shoulders.  
  
The triage nurse gives him a look that suggests that he’s not being paid enough to deal with him. “We’re doing everything we can.” He looks Jace over, with an air that’s too tired to be judgemental. “If you’re under 18 we can make a call to your emergency contact.”  
  
Jace nods, a little too quickly, and his stomach gives an almighty heave. As if sensing this, the nurse leans back behind the plexiglass. “Uh, yeah, I am,” he lies. “Can I call my friend’s mom?”  
  
The nurse raises his eyebrows, silently telegraphing he couldn’t care less who Jace called--the Pope, Marilyn Manson, his ex. “Whatever you need to do. Keep it short, though.”  
  
  
  
  
“Honey. Honey, there you are.” Jace stiffens in surprise as Annalise rushes over to him, throwing her arms around him and pressing a slightly damp kiss his forehead. She smells of extremely potent floral perfume, and her blouse is very busy with flowers. “I was so worried when I got your call. Are you boys all right?”  
  
Jace can’t quite meet her eyes. “Sebastian’s being taken care of.”  
  
Annalise’s expression falters. She doesn’t like Sebastian—it would be hard, given how much he despises her. But she wants to. Even if she doesn’t know how. Does she think its something wrong with her? He wants to ask, but can’t seem to find the words. “Can we see him? Is he all right?”  
  
Jace shakes his head. “Not yet. I don’t know.”  
  
They aren’t telling him anything because he’s not family, other than that he’s being cared for. It’s as meaningless as if they told him, “it’ll be okay.”  
  
She puts a hand on his arm. Her nails are long and plastic. “Let’s get you home first. I bet your mother is worried sick about you.”  
  
Jace’s stomach turns and for a moment he thinks he might be sick again, but he forces out a weak smile. “Thank you.”  
  
She digs around in her purse for her keys, pulling them out with a triumphant jingle. Jace is far, far too tired to react in any way, so he keeps staring at her blandly. The whole room seems fogged over, as if one of his contact lenses had dried up. He just wanted to sleep. He just wanted to know Sebastian was all right. If he’d just been paying more attention to what Sebastian was doing—maybe someone had slipped something into his drink. It could happen anywhere—hell, it had apparently happened on school grounds. Jace should have seen it—should have stopped it—  
  
“Sweetheart, you okay?” Annalise’s worried eyes peer his way. Jace attempts a smile, starts toward her to follow her to the car. He feels like he’s moving through syrup, limbs tired and heavy.  
  
“Just tired,” Jace says.  
  
Annalise’s car is a sleek BMW, and it smells of cinnamon and coconut hand lotion inside, which sets Jace’s headache throbbing again. Still, it’s warm and comfortable, and Annalise thankfully turns down the radio. He catches sight of his reflection in the rearview mirror and scrubs at his face with his sleeve—red lipstick is smeared over his face. She asks him questions, where he’s from, what his parents do, what his favorite subjects are, what he wants to do when he grows up. He tries for as monosyllabic answers as possible, but he can’t help be partially truthful. She’s earnest, occasionally pausing to tell him about her family in New Jersey, her newborn niece named Pamela, how much she disliked law school but how it taught her so much and taught her to persevere, how she met Val in the courtroom after he came up to her to compliment her defense—  
  
 _Does he ever talk about me?_ Jace wants to ask. _Does he even mention me? Remember me? See something and say, “Oh, Jace loved dinosaurs. Wonder how he’s doing now. He’s almost Sebastian’s age, isn’t he?”_  
  
Jace recognizes his house out the window. It’s still dark, but the sun is peaking up from the horizon.  
  
“Here you are, sweetheart,” Annalise says, peering out at Jocelyn’s house. “Should I take you to the door? Your mother must be so worried—“  
  
Jace’s stomach lurches. “No, no thank you,” he says quickly. “I’d—I’d rather you get back to the hospital faster.”  
  
Annalise smiles. “You’re so sweet. Get some sleep, okay honey? I’ll text you when I know anything.”  
  
Jace thanks her again, pushing the door open and climbing out quickly. He fumbles in his pocket for his keys, and a wave of gratitude washes through him as his fingers find them. He makes his way as quickly and quietly as he can to the door, slipping in the key and turning it slowly. The door clicks open, and he pushes his way inside. It smells of must and decay and home, and he heads silently for his room—  
  
The kitchen light is on. Luke’s sitting alone at the table, moored in paperwork. There’s a hunch of exhaustion to his shoulders. There’s an open carton of apple juice sitting next to him. Jace isn’t sure how long he stands there struck through with profound guilt watching him write in quick, smooth strokes, but eventually Luke somehow senses his presence and turns around.  
  
“Jace,” he says, and relief spreads over his features. His eyebrows raise. “Looks like you had a bit of a rough night.”  
  
Jace swallows, and there’s a painfulness in his throat. “Yeah.”  
  
“I don’t suppose you want to talk about it.” Luke’s voice is firm. “Or what happened earlier.”  
  
Jace looks down. The linoleum is shiny and flimsy under his feet. He must look like hell—he wonders what Luke thinks of him. “Not really.”  
  
“Well, you will.” Luke’s voice brokers no resistance. “You may be an adult, Jace, but it’s still your mother’s and my job to take care of you. And that means knowing what’s going on in your life.”  
  
Jace bites down on his tongue to keep the prickling tears from his eyes. The truth pulls at him, like tiny hooks in his skin, but he can’t, Luke will tell Jocelyn who will freak out and ruin everything. “I was out with the team,” he says, putting a bit of defeat into his voice. “We were just supposed to stay in, but someone suggested we go out, so we did, and our designated driver got hammered and no one was sober enough to drive, and all the taxis were busy so we had to call an Uber, but there were so many of us we had to call an UberXL, but they take forever and the driver was only willing to meet us in a certain part of downtown so we had to walk.”  
  
It’s an inspired lie, and Jace has no idea where it came from, but his panic about the events of the past few hours comes spilling out into words and he can’t stop them.  Luke’s expression softens as he listens, and the tension in Jace’s gut increases. He doesn’t like lying to Luke, but more and more it seems it’s all he can do.  
  
“And Jonathan?”  
  
Fuck. Jace had almost forgotten about that. “He goes to St. Xavier’s. We’ve talked a little bit. I lent him my book for an exam and he owed me a favor. I was just calling it in, I didn’t think—“  
  
“He’d come to the door and terrify your mother?” Luke looks somewhat sympathetic. “Look, Jace, I know Jonathan and his father were before my time, but your mother’s told me about it, and it represents a bad time in her life. And Jonathan’s more trouble than he’s worth. If I were you, I’d keep my distance.”  
  
Jace’s jaw tightens, but he makes himself relax and keep his eyes fixed on the floor. No one ever bothered to tell him why Jocelyn hated Val so much, and he knew if he tried to ask again he would just hear _it’s in the past, get over it._ “Okay.”  
  
Luke gives him a tired smile. “Get some sleep, champ. We can deal with Jocelyn in the morning.”  
  
The thought of having to justify himself to Jocelyn of all people smarts, but Jace is far too exhausted to take any real exception to it. “’Night,” he mutters.  
  
“Goodnight, Jace.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed, and thanks for reading!! I'm trying to get the next chapter finalized soon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I discovered I can embed emojis in rich text on AO3....the texting threads just got wilder. 🙈
> 
> Chapter-specific warnings are under the cut. Enjoy! 💕

Jace wakes up at 4 PM the next day to three texts from Annalise and an awful, blinding headache that has him ready to pull his own head from his shoulders. With supreme effort, he grabs his phone off the floor in his jeans pocket and reaches for the charger on his desk at the head of his bed. After being blinded by the screen he sets the brightness to the lowest setting, hardly daring to squint at it.  
  
 _> Good news honey, he’s fine_  
 _> Don’t worry yourself too much and take care _❤️❤️ _  
_ _> Thank you so much for being such a good friend and taking care of him_  
  
Fuck. Thank god. Jace thanks her quickly, then closes out of the message and instantly sends a message to Sebastian.  
  
 _< Hey you there?_  
 _< Annalise says you’re okay_  
 _< How do you feel?_  
  
Jace waits a few minutes, but there’s no reply. Sebastian usually answers in that time if he’s online, which suggests that he’s not. Or he’s ignoring Jace. Jace is both disappointed and relieved. He puts his phone under his pillow and rolls over to go back to sleep—  
  
A knock sounds on the door. “Jace. Jace wake up, it’s nearly dinner.”  
  
Jace tries to stifle a groan. “It’s in two hours.”  
  
“Yes, and you should have been awake at least four hours ago. If you’re not out of here in thirty minutes, I’m getting Luke to take the door off its hinges.”  
  
Jace resisted the urge to flip her off through the door with supreme effort. “Fine.”  
  
 _“Yes, ma’am.”_  
  
Jace rolls his eyes against the pillow. “Yes, ma’am.”  
  
In exactly twenty-eight minutes Jace manages to drag himself out of bed and throw an old sweatshirt and jeans, forgoing socks as there aren’t any remotely clean ones left in his dresser. He’s hungry and thirsty all at once. He goes to the fridge to grab some juice or some fruit—  
  
“Jace. We need to talk.”   
  
Jace closes his eyes to fight back another eye roll and shuts the fridge door. Jocelyn is sitting at the kitchen table, looking pissed off. When does she ever not look pissed off? “Okay.”  
  
She gestures to the chair opposite her. “Sit down.”  
  
Jace sits down. He hates being ordered around, but arguing isn’t going to help anything.  
  
She’s silent for a while, staring him down. His gaze slides over her eyes so he traces her brows, the smear of paint on her collar. Her lips are pressed into a thin line, and it makes his stomach roil with acid. The fridge is making a tense-sounding rumble, the sink dripping. Jace swears he could hear a mouse run over the tiles. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”  
  
“No,” Jace says.   
  
“No?” Jocelyn’s voice raises. “Nothing about swanning off all night god knows where with your friends? Nothing about bringing your psychopath stepbrother to our _house_? Nothing about ignoring my and Luke’s texts? Nothing about leaving your sister here on her own? She was late to the party and Maryse had to take them, do you know how embarrassed we were? Nothing about that phone—which you _still_ haven’t explained. You have _nothing_ to say for yourself?”  
  
Jace feels so sick he feels he might vomit again at any second, but his tone is steady when he says, “Nothing.”  
  
Jocelyn blinks in surprise very briefly before a fresh curtain of anger descends over her face. “ _Jace—_ “  
  
“Oh, I got the phone off craigslist with the rest of the money I earned last summer,” Jace adds. “Not that it’s any of your business. The rest is definitely none of your business.”  
  
“None of my business.” Jocelyn’s voice is hard as ice, and that shakes away Jace’s anger. “It is definitely my business. You’re my son, and as long as you live under this roof you have to tell me these things. But if that’s how you really feel, maybe I thought you were more mature than you are. You’re grounded. For the next month. At _least_.”  
  
“Grounded?” Jace’s voice raises an octave. His chest feels like someone’s snuck up on him and dumped ice water over his head. “I have practice—scholarships—“  
  
“Maybe you should have thought of that first.” Jocelyn’s tone is still icy, though Jace can’t say she sounds very satisfied. Dimly, he can feel one of his hands fidgeting at his side. He shoves it into his pocket. “I don’t think you understand what you did here, Jace. What kind of trust you’ve broken.”  
  
“Trust?” Jace’s voice definitely cracks; he feels a bit hysterical, light-headed, like a hot air balloon rising to the ceiling. He knows he should shut the fuck up while he’s still behind, but something like Freud’s death impulse drives him on. “Trust, seriously? When you still won’t tell me why you made Val leave? When you won’t even fucking talk to me about it? _That_ trust?”  
  
Jocelyn’s  lips part, her eyes widen—her mask cracks. She blinks, as if in surprise, but too quickly for that. “Those aren’t the same things. This is about how you treat me and Luke, and your sister. What happened with Val, you were too young to understand—"  
  
“If this is about Luke and Clary, why the fuck aren’t they here?” Jace demands. He’s stood up at some point, he doesn’t remember when, and it feels like his head is glued to the ceiling at a dizzying height, stars flashing behind his eyes. “Don’t pretend this isn’t all about control. You just can’t handle the fact that for once, just for _once_ , I wanted to be something more than just someone who takes your orders. But fine, I get it. That’s what I am to you.” The heat in his chest has risen perilously high into his throat--he tosses off a jerky, angry imitation of a salute and turns on his heel, making the thin linoleum floors tremble with his footsteps.   
  
“ _Jace—"_  
  
“I’ll be in my room,” he manages to say, though his voice wobbles traitorously in his throat. His eyes are burning—he wrenches the door open and slams it shut behind him, leaning into it with his back. He cries quietly. It’s not about this it’s—it’s everything, overflowing all at once. The sobs wrench in his chest but make no sound. He stumbles to his bed, falling onto the covers, burying his face in his pillow. The swell of feeling so terrible crescendos, then abates, like a retreating tide. He wipes the salt from his face with his sleeve, rolling over onto his side, looking out at the window over the dead lawn, the rusting cars, the broken sidewalk. He checks his phone—no messages. It’s 4:47 PM. Two hours to dinner.  
  
He rolls over onto his front and smothers himself with the pillow, trying to block out the light.  
  
  
  
  
  
Sebastian isn’t at school Monday, or Tuesday. Jace texts him again, trying to sound casual and probably failing, and doesn’t get an immediate reply. He’s struggling through chemistry homework late on Sunday night—procrastination is a _bitch_ —when his phone vibrates and Sebastian’s contact flashes on iMessage. Jace grabs it swipes it open as fast as he can. Sebastian is typing; Jace watches the bubble in anticipation.  
  
 _> Im fine. Convinced annalise to let me cut class today but she insisted on “bonding time” instead _🙄  
 _> she used up the last of my favorite face mask and I swear to god im going to murder her in her sleep_  
  
Jace frowns. This suggests Sebastian has been ignoring his texts. Still, the idea of Annalise and Sebastian sitting around working on their skincare routines amuses him just enough to shake him out of his brooding self-pity and chemistry-induced panic.  
  
 _< Im ok_  
 _< jocelyn grounded me_  
  
 _> she did?_  
 _> fucking bitch_  
 _> can u get out of it?_  
  
 _< I don’t know_  
  
Jace thinks about telling him not to call Jocelyn a bitch again, but doesn’t. There’s a crushing weight on his chest that sucks the impulse out of him.  
  
 _< shes really pissed_  
 _< that u came to the house I mean_  
 _< well and that I came back so late _  
_< they don’t know anything tho_  
  
Sebastian doesn’t reply for a moment, and Jace feels his annoyance growing, spiked with anxiety. He hasn’t explained anything or even acknowledged what happened. And, of course, Jace doesn’t know what he remembers. His own recollection of the night is hazy at best, but he can recall with cold terror Sebastian’s body against his. Kissing him and _wanting_.   
  
_> fuck sorry _  
_> I told annalise to fuck off so I can talk_  
 _> look just tell her you have practice whenever she asks_  
 _> she cant make you stop going_  
 _> u have scholarships n shit_  
  
 _< ill try_  
 _< idk im just pissed about it_  
 _< shes still mad I didn’t take clary to her party_  
  
 _> if it comes to it ill kidnap u_  
  
 _< lol it might be a few days before she notices _

_> _ 😂😂😂

  
Jace gets up from the desk and carries the phone to his bed, and flops onto it, staring up at the ceiling. It’s sort of dark in the room, even with the lamp on, and he feels terribly alone. Clary, Luke, and Jocelyn are in the backyard, making very late burgers for dinner. Jace told them he isn’t hungry. No one argued.  
  
 _< so what did they say at the hospital?_  
  
There’s a long pause before Sebastian starts typing, and for a moment Jace thinks he won’t reply. Ordinarily this might make Jace concerned, or at least feel something, but he doesn’t seem to have the mental energy for it.  
  
 _> too many shots + drugs = bad combo apparently _  
  
_< alcohol poisoning?_  
  
 _> I think it was more the drugs. laced with something or whatever _🤷🏻‍  
 _> I wasn’t really paying attention when they told me_  
 _> annalise was crying and whatever and I just wanted her to shut the fuck up so I could sleep _🙄  
  
 _< shes just trying to take care of you, you kno_  
 _< shes nice if you talk to her_  
  
 _> that’s nice jace. Ill be sure to send flowers at your wedding_  
  
 _< fuck off_  
 _< I mean it_  
 _< she came when I called her at the hospital, and it was almost 4 am_  
  
 _> its her tits isn’t it_  
  
 _< ur disgusting shes like twice my age_  
 _< also like, dating ur dad_  
  
 _> I bet shed bang u if u offered _😏  
 _> also her tits are totally fake_  
 _> jsyk_

<🖕🖕🖕  
 _< stop it ffs_  
 _< shes nice to you and youre being such a jackass_  
  
In lieu of a response, Sebastian sends him a selfie. His face is covered in some kind of greenish goo Jace has to assume has something to do with Lush or whatever, and he’s wearing his characteristic half-smirk that should look stupid, but for some reason doesn’t. It lifts his spirits more than he wants to admit.  
  
 _< you look like yoda_  
  
 _> _🖕 _  
> shut the fuck up jace_  
  
 _< if your ears were bigger itd be perfect_  
  
 _> you have the generic soccer player haircut don’t start_  
 _> do you go to the barber and go “hey bro make me literally indistinguishable from every other guy on the field?”_  
 _> also the mask of magnaminty is a fucking gift _😻😻  
  
Jace grins.   
  
_< did I hit a nerve? _🤔  
 _< also my hair is perfect shut the fuck up_  
  
 _> get back to me when you’ve had ur first kiss _😘 _😘_  
 _> if ur lucky some girl might mistake you for one of the millions of other dudes with the fuckboy haircut_  
  
Jace’s grin wavers. First, he’d already had his first kiss, thank you very much, Sebastian. Second, if he doesn’t recall the glaringly obvious example...had he forgotten the entire night?  Jace feverishly hopes so. His fingers hover on the keyboard, his mind spinning to find a probing question that could ascertain what Sebastian remembered, but then he thinks better of it. Best neither of them go thinking about what happened.  
  
Himself especially.  
  
 _< your hair is almost literally the same as mine_  
  
 _> plus or minus some sense of style, yeah_  
  
Jace rolls his eyes, pushing all thoughts of Halloween night out of mind.   
  
_< yeah don’t get too full of urself just bc you dye it_  
  
 _> excuse me??? I don’t fucking dye my hair jace _😡  
  
 _< uh huh_  
 _< and the president doesn’t have a spray tan_  
  
 _> im going to fucking kill u irl_  
  
 _< not if I kill u first_  
  
 _> sexy _💦💦💦 👅  
 _> r u gonna choke me to death?_  
 _> id like that _😍  
  
Jace snorts. Then a more serious thought strikes him.   
  
_< of course u would_  
 _< did val come back?_  
  
 _> nah couldn’t make it back in time to attend my sickbed_  
 _> were taking a weekend up at annalise’s vacation home tho_  
 _> its gonna be awful_  
 _> family bonding and shit 🤮🤮_  
  
Jace tries to control his hot wave of irritation and only partly succeeds.  
  
 _< I’ll petition the red cross to send aid_  
  
 _> fuck off jace u know what I mean_  
 _> all family gatherings always turn into fights_  
 _> either its annalise and val fighting about something idiotic or its val not leaving me the fuck alone_  
  
Jace softens slightly. Parents fighting he can certainly understand. And it isn’t like Sebastian didn’t weather the worst of Jocelyn and Val’s shouting matches with him and Clary.  
  
 _< that does suck sorry_  
 _< but at least theyre concerned about you_  
 _< are you feeling okay? I was actually pretty worried about you_  
  
A pause, and the typing bubble disappears. Jace’s worry and frustration rise—if Sebastian drops out of the conversation again—  
  
 _> im fine_  
 _> how about you? annalise said u were pretty fucking sick_  
 _> id make fun of u for being a lightweight but I cant fucking remember what u drank _😂  
 _> or much of anything tbh_  
 _> did I get into a fight? my hand was apparently kind of fucked up_  
  
Jace smiles, a little bit.  
  
 _< if you cant remember who the lightweight is, its you_  
 _< and yeah u punched out a guy bc he was trying to take pictures of you_  
  
 _> lmao I did??? _😂😂  
 _> anything else I should know about?_  
  
Ice slips around in Jace’s gut.   
  
_< like what?_  
  
 _> I don’t know_  
 _> starting satan-worshipping cult, gangbangs on the bathroom floor, getting married to a dude four times my age?? that kind of shit_  
  
 _< is that what you normally do when youre drunk? _🤔  
  
 _> fuck jace im trying to cover all my bases here_  
  
The truth rises in Jace’s throat like bile and for some reason he can feel his heart speeding. Was it wrong not to tell him? Neither of them were in possession of their full faculties. It meant nothing, and could only make everything worse.  
  
 _< nah not really_  
 _< punching out a dude, taking drugs from strangers, collapsing on the sidewalk and being rushed to the hospital were the only major incidents_  
  
 _> doesn’t sound great when u put it that way_  
  
 _< that’s bc it isn’t u idiot_  
  
 _> ok but forreal I didn’t have sex with anyone did I?_  
  
 _< nah not that I know of_  
 _< u got kind of hot and heavy with this one guy but the fistfight interrupted it and then we left and u passed out_  
  
 _> lmao okay _ 😂😂  
 _> did u have sex with anyone?_  
  
 _< what? no lol _  
_< I got a girls number but that’s it_  
 _< and I don’t even know how interested she is_  
  
 _> oh yeah sounds like she gave u her number in case u needed to trade textbook notes _🙄  
 _> of course shes interested you fuckwit_  
 _> have u texted her?_  
  
 _< no lol_  
 _< wtf do I say?_  
 _< hey there hot stuff hows it going??_

> 🙄🙄🙄🙄  
 _> ur disgustingly heterosexual sometimes, jace_  
 _> come over tomorrow and ill coach u through it_  
  
Jace sighs and rolls over onto his back. His back hurts, like he’s been sitting for too long. He probably has been. All he wants to do is sleep.  
  
 _< cant im grounded_  
  
 _> oh my fucking god_  
 _> im adding ur fucking mother to my hit list 🔪🔪_  
  
Jace makes a skeptical face.   
  
_< u have a hit list? _🤔  
  
 _> metaphorically_  
 _> cmon cant she make an exception?? u might finally get laid 🍆🍆💦_  
 _> was the girl hot?_  
  
 _< tbh she was way outta my league _  
_< sharing notes might be more likely _😢  
 _< she hated ur costume btw_  
 _< said suicide squad sucked _👍  
  


 _> _😂😂 _  
> well it did lol_  
 _> but ledgers joker is dressed like a fuckin marshmallow_  
 _> like srs I was not going to wear 3+ layers_  
  
 _< but is it worth looking like an asshole?_  
 _< anyway idk ill text her later_  
 _< im too fucking scared to do it now lmao_  
 _< u can help me at lunch_  
  
Jace hears a knock at the door and puts his phone down with an angry sigh. If it’s Jocelyn, he’s not going to open it. Or at least he’ll close it in her face. It’s immature and stupid but it feels fucking good to be like this, actually angry, not pretending he’s not and papering over the growing distance like a crack in the wall.  
  
 _< brb moms calling_  
 _< talk to you tomorrow_  
  
He makes it to the door in two angry strides, wrenching it open. “Yes?”  
  
To his surprise and chagrin, Clary is standing in the doorway. She tucks her arm holding a plate behind the wall, shielding it with her body. In an apologetic whisper, she says, “I brought you a burger. It’s burned to hell and back but they all were, Luke and Mom were argu—talking and—can I come in?”  
  
Jace tucks his phone quickly into his back pocket. “Yeah.” A bit late, he adds, “Thanks for the food.”  
  
Clary darts into the room, shutting the door behind her. She puts down the plate on his dresser, then, as he watches in vague confusion, unzips her sweater and pulls out a handful of granola bars. “I figured you hadn’t eaten,” she says, in an extremely serious, conspiratorial whisper. “Like a fasting protest or something. But your room is right next to mine, so if you die in here I’ll have to smell your corpse and they’ll have to bleach the carpets once they cart you out, and that’s totally gross—"  
  
Jace can’t help it, he laughs. “Did you smuggle all that food just to drag me for sulking?”  
  
Clary looks up at him in innocence, where she’s unloading Gatorade packets from her socks. “Maybe.” She stands up, dumping the packets onto his bed. “For the record, I’m totally not sewing your mouth shut or whatever, no matter how hard you beg—“  
  
Jace sits on the bed and throws one of the packets at her. “Very funny.”  
  
Clary grins. “The burger was from Luke, although I definitely banked on you being all haughty and brooding and refuse to eat it, so it’s basically seconds for me. Though I brought extra pickles for you.” She takes the bun off the burger and picks out about ten pickles, stacking them neatly on the plate, then holds out the burger. Jace shakes his head and she flops down next to him,  handing him the plate of pickles. Through a bite of burger, she says, “So did you go out with Jonath—Sebastian?”  
  
Jace’s stomach lurches before she realizes she means _go out_ as in a club. With a breath of relief that’s almost a sigh, he plasters on a sheepish grin. “Yeah. He’s got a great fake ID.”  
  
Clary raises an eyebrow, though she looks a lot less arch with cheeseburger in her mouth. “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me at all.” A pause. “You don’t think he could hook Izzy and me up with—“  
  
“Absolutely not,” said Jace immediately, and Clary gave a put-upon groan. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t give me that look, he hasn’t given me one either. And honestly, trust me, you’re not missing anything. Clubs are gross and loud and probably full of puke past a certain hour.”  
  
Clary made a face. “Sounds like a house party.”  
  
“Yeah, except you have to pay for your drinks.” Jace crunches thoughtfully on a pickle. “Though, I have to admit the lack of beer pong was a definite upside.”  
  
“Maybe there’s a back room for beer pong,” Clary says. “Or it’s vodka pong. Did anyone try to sell you drugs? In middle school this girl Kaelie says her brother Meliorn says they fall from the ceiling like a piñata—”  
  
Jace gives her a weird look. “Uh, no. That’s definitely a lie.” He frowns. “Aren’t you literally sixteen next month? How do you still believe that at sixteen?”  
  
“I didn’t actually believe her!” Clary protests. “I just...wanted to make extra sure. I know plenty about drugs. Simon’s bandmate Jordan does tons of weed, he’s like, the biggest stoner in the state. One time he was so high he tried to use a pack of spaghetti as a drumstick.”  
  
Jace gives a put-upon sigh. “Do I have to give you the _don’t do drugs, stay in school_ talk?”  
  
“No,” says Clary, maybe a bit too quickly. “But you should probably give it to Jordan.”  
  
Jace chuckles, taking another pickle. “I think that would fall under the _too little, too late_ category.” He falls silent as the sliding doors between the kitchen and the backyard opened and closed. “So what were the raised voices about? I could hear them all the way from here.”  
  
“It wasn’t a big deal,” Clary says. “I mean, it was really my fault. I brought up the whole grounding you thing because like, you have practice and whatever, and Mom didn’t take it well and Luke intervened and well—like, she sort of felt he was undermining her authority or whatever, and he felt that like, without context or anything that she was being super crazy risking your scholarships and shit. So they fought.”  
  
Immense fondness swells in his chest even as Clary steals the last of the ketchup to mop up her leftover burger bun. “You—you didn’t have to do that. For me, I mean.”  
  
Clary gives an awkward shrug. “To be honest, it kind of pissed me off too. I mean, I get you guys don’t always see eye-to-eye, but I’d totally loose it if she stopped me from going to volleyball, and I’m not in my last year with scouting and playoffs and stuff. So yeah, I felt it was kind of a dick move. Also, I wanted to be able to emotionally extort chores out of you for the next century.”  
  
“Don’t forget the passive-aggressive granola bars. Those were a nice touch.” He picks at his comforter, resisting the urge to reach for his phone. “Do you think I should...apologize?”  
  
She raises an eyebrow. “Because you actually feel bad, or because you want her to relent and unground you so you can hang out more with our ex-stepbrother, who has a totally non-zero chance of becoming a serial killer later in life?”  
  
Jace gives her a look. “Mostly the second. Also, Sebastian would make an awful serial killer. If he ever killed someone he’d immediately Instagram a selfie with the corpse with the caption ‘ _guess who just got murdered_.’ ”  
  
Clary laughs, clearly delighted by the image. “American Psycho style. Like, blood splatter and everything.” She gasped. “No, he definitely strikes me as the _Heathers_ type. Hundred percent.”  
  
“I’ll let him know you think so. He’ll be charmed.”  
  
She giggles. “Maybe he’d livestream it. It would make a hell of a storytime video.”  
  
“Now you’re just being mean.” Jace eats the last pickle, savoring the saltiness. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m sorry. I feel like...I feel like I really pissed her off, but at the same time people do so much worse shit. Like I didn’t get anyone pregnant I just stayed out too late and...” Guilt nags at him. “Sorry for not taking you to your party, though.”  
  
“It’s fine,” says Clary, not quite meeting his eyes. “Maryse picked us up.”  
  
That makes him feel way worse than if she’d been upset at him. He goes for humor, or at least aims for it. “Well, I guess that gives you more chore extortion material.”  
  
“Yeah.” She stands up, holding the now-empty plate. “Well, if I were you, I would wait to apologize until you actually mean it. So lay low and try not to piss off Mom any more, and maybe she’ll calm down and relent on the whole practice thing.” Her phone vibrates and she picks it up, checking the screen. “Shit, Izzy’s calling about our psych project. Try not to die in here, white teenage rebellion Ghandi.”  
  
“I’m not white teenage rebellion Ghandi,” he calls after her.  
  
“You’re doing the dishes all of next week,” is her reply. “Amazing advice isn’t free.”  
  
  
  
  
Jace shoves past the two defensive players and manages to scoop the ball out from under them with his toe, kicking it away and chasing after it as it races along with him over the frozen ground. Quinn and Lydia are coming at him from the sides so he keeps the ball closer to his feet, guarding it, swerving away to dodge their attempts to trap him and take the ball. The goal is in sight—the goalie’s eyes are on his feet, trying to predict where he’ll try to make it in—  
  
Something jerks hard on Jace’s foot and there’s a split second where he registers being in the air before hard ground slams into him. Sharp pain shoots up his leg but he’s too winded to cry out, his lungs forcefully empty. With effort he rolls himself onto his back, clutching at his shin, his ankle a firey locus of pain radiating through his body. Dark shapes appear above him in the grey sky—faces. Some kneel down, call his name. A hand on his shoulder.  
  
“You okay, Jace?” It’s Raj.  
  
“What happened?” Jace thinks he recognizes their coach’s voice. Victor Aldertree. Jace doesn’t like him much, maybe because he missed his old team and Robert and Maryse coaching, back when they were still together.  
  
“Jace tripped and fell,” Raj says, and he sounds tense. “It looks pretty painful.”  
  
Aldertree’s face appears, calm and steady. “Jace. Are you okay?”  
  
Jace shakes his head no, squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth against he pain. His ankle felt painful and weak, and he could feel a vague terror that he’d hurt it badly.   
  
“Is your head or neck hurting?”  
  
Jace shakes his head no again. There’s some pain in his shoulders and arms from falling, but its nowhere near the same. “Just my leg.”   
  
“Okay. Raj, you and Duncan get him to the nurse. Jace, can you stand or sit up?”  
  
With effort, Jace manages to push himself onto his elbow, twisting around on his side. His ankle smarts, but he gingerly moves it so that he can sit up further. Raj takes one of his arms and Duncan the other, and together they manage to haul him to be able to limp along on his good foot.  
  
“Tell us if anything hurts,” Raj says, and Jace nods. He can feel the rest of the team’s gazes on him, and as he passes Quinn looks infuriatingly smug. The journey to the nurse’s office is a long and painful one, and as soon as Jace is in the rickety plastic chair outside the office he sags into it with gratitude. He notices his exercise leggings under his uniform shorts are ripped and his knee is covered in blood and grass stain.   
  
“You go to class,” Raj tells Duncan. “I’ll stay here.”  
  
Duncan shrugs and makes for the door. Raj watches him until he’s gone, then his scowl deepens and he shakes his head. “I can’t believe Aldertree let him get away with that,” he says. “Lydia was pissed off, but there’s nothing she can do.”  
  
Jace frowned. “Get away with what?”  
  
Raj stared at him. “You didn’t see? You didn’t just fall. Quinn tripped you. It was so obvious even I saw it from across the field. Maybe it happened too fast for you to see, but everyone else saw it.”  
  
Jace swallowed, a tight, ugly feeling in his stomach. Quinn’s smug expression as Duncan and Raj helped him by floated to the surface of his mind. “He did?”  
  
Raj nodded. “He’s a fucking prick. There’s no way Aldertree missed it—he watches our footwork like a hawk. He must see something in Jace’s expression because he adds, “I’m sure you’ll be fine. Camille busted her knee on the volleyball team last year and was back to playing in two weeks, and that was a really bad injury. You probably just rolled your ankle.”  
  
Jace gave a tight smile in return. “Thanks. I hope so.”  
  
He checks his pocket for his phone, and to his great relief the screen is somehow intact. He fires off a text to Sebastian to tell him he won’t be able to meet him outside the locker room, if he’s coming to school.  
  
Sebastian replies instantly.  
  
 _> what happened???_  
  
 _< fell during practice. idk how bad it is but it hurts like satan_  
 _< im in the nurse’s office_  
  
 _> shit_  
  
 _> quinn fucking tripped me_  
 _> my ankle’s busted idk how bad_  
  
 _> fucking bastard_  
 _> ok ill be there in a bit_  
  
Jace puts away his phone. His whole body aches, but his ankle is hot and throbbing with sharp pain.  Sebastian arrives shortly after Jace gets out of the nurse’s office. The nurse hadn’t been particularly helpful, just told Jace he needed to see a doctor and gave him ice with instructions on how to apply it, which was making him even more anxious. Raj apologetically left to go to his first class, and offered his hopes Jace would feel better soon.  
  
“There you are,” Sebastian says, alighting next to him and shelling off his coat. His cheeks are rather rosy from the cold, and his pale hair is in disarray. “Are you okay?”  
  
Jace shakes his head. He feels nauseated, not in the way he had on Halloween but in the way where he just felt anxious and sick. His ankle hurts even more now, and the ice isn’t doing anything to stop it. “The nurse says I need to go to the doctor. I called Luke and he’s picking me up in an hour.”  
  
Sebastian fusses over him for a moment, brushing the grass off his shoulders and out of his hair. “I can drive you. Do you need Advil? I have some.”  
  
Jace shakes his head. “I should wait for Luke.”  
  
Sebastian looks a little disappointed, but doesn’t argue. Instead he fetches Jace water and some Advil and all but makes him take it. “Quinn is a fucking asshole,” he mutters, glaring at nothing in particular. Jace tries not to notice he’d put his hand rather protectively on Jace’s arm. “He’s probably just still pissy that his friend didn’t make it back on the team. Or that your soccer bro haircut is better than his.”   
  
Jace rolls his eyes. “I’m sure that’s it.”  
  
Sebastian grins at him. “Unless you’re just faking. I hear that’s all the rage in your sport.”  
  
“Yeah, I’m faking my ankle being twice the size it usually is and about twenty shades darker. Well noticed.”  
  
Sebastian pouts and put his hand on Jace’s shoulder. Jace looks anxiously to the secretary’s desk, but its empty. “I was just joking.” He checks his watch and his expression darkens.   
  
“Looks like your ride will be here soon.” He pats Jace’s shoulder and gets up, grabbing his coat and backpack off the back of the chair. “Text me if you need anything.”  
  
Jace nods, mostly because he doesn’t feel well enough to do anything else. Luke arrives half an hour later, fifteen minutes late because Luke got a call and Alaric and Ollie were busy and Luke had to wait until he could find a replacement.  
  
The doctor’s office is loud and busy, and even with earbuds in Jace still wants to pick up one of the screaming children and shake it until it shuts up. He manages to wait until his name is called. The doctor examines it and tells him its likely a third-degree sprain, and recommends him to the hospital for an x-ray to make sure there are no fractures. Luke dutifully drives him to the hospital, and Jace prays internally that it’s either a different hospital than the one he and Sebastian ended up at, or that at least no one recognizes him.  
  
He comes home with a boot brace, a prescription for Tylenol 2, a lot of icepacks, and a stern warning to stay away from any form of exertion for at least two to three weeks. Clary is extremely sympathetic, having broken both her arm and her leg in childhood from falling out of trees, and showers him in advice on how to live with his newest impairment. He tries to be grateful, but his leg still hurts and all he wants to do is take a nap.  
  
Lydia Branwell, the team captain, messages him and says he’s welcome to sit all the practices he misses until he feels better, and wishes him a speedy recovery. There’s no mention of Quinn, and for a moment Jace wonders if Raj was lying or somehow mistaken, and then she added a cryptic bit about him being a valuable addition to the team “despite what a minority of people seem to think.”  
  
Sebastian has been messaging him a stream of “wounded warrior” memes, which he probably would find more funny if he wasn’t both in pain and a thoroughly shitty mood. He switches off notifications, thanks Lydia, then lies back down to go to sleep.   
  
  
  
  
He misses the bus the next morning and thus doesn’t make it to morning practice. It’s probably for the better, because although his foot and the rest of his body does feel better, it’s still quite painful. He sacrifices the time to take a real shower, but hobbling along it takes a lot longer than expected and he ends up skipping breakfast to get his school shit together in time for the bus to come. He and Clary end up waiting at the stop together, and she introduces him to Isabelle, as if he’d somehow forgotten who she is.  
  
“Jace! It’s been forever.” She gives him a hug, which he returns a bit awkwardly. She looks surprisingly happy to see him. “I bet Alec misses you like hell. Make sure you stay in touch.”  
  
Jace gives his best attempt at a smile. Alec hadn’t opened most of his last messages, which was only a step above being left on read. “Yeah, we still talk. He’s doing great.”  
  
Clary gives her a sort of furtive, nervous smile, which Isabelle returns in an uncharacteristically geeky way, and Jace makes up an excuse about having to finish an English reading and makes his way further back onto the bus so they can talk. He arrives to his locker winded and in an incredibly bad mood, only to discover that Sebastian stopped by Starbucks before class.  
  
“Don’t,” he says, as Jace opens his mouth to protest the large coffee and apple fritter dropped in his arms. He’s gnawing on a bagel of his own, tearing at it with surprising intensity. Catching Jace’s expression, he smacks him not very gently on the arm. “Don’t be so brooding. I’m sure I can find someone else to let me into the locker room while you can’t.”  
  
Jace rolls his eyes. “Oh thank god.”  
  
Sebastian looks very pleased with himself. “Try the fritter. I had them toast it, they’re much better that way.”  
  
Obediently, Jace takes a hesitant bite. It’s extremely sweet, but in such a good way. He tastes caramel and apple and cinnamon, and he has to admit it’s quite good. Probably not worth however much Sebastian spent on it, but good.  
  
“I’ll make a Starbucks hoe out of you eventually.” Sebastian takes the top off his own cup very delicately and sips the foam at the top. “So what did the doctor say?”  
  
“Sprained. I won’t be able to play for at least a month.” Jace tries very hard to squash the self-pity out of his voice, and fails. “And I’m behind on school now, and the English essay is due in a week and I haven’t even started—“  
  
“Nor have I.” Sebastian doesn’t sound worried. “You’ll be fine. Starkweather loves you, and not even in the creepy way.” He gives Jace a pretty smile Jace is quite sure he’s practiced in front of the mirror. “Look on the bright side. Now you get to spend so much more time with yours truly.”  
  
Jace glared halfheartedly at him. “How exactly does this mean that?”  
  
“Think about it. It’ll be even easier to tell Jocelyn you’re at practice when you’re not.” Sebastian looks quite happy about this—or maybe he’s just beaming into his coffee. He knocks Jace’s elbow with his own. “C’mon, first period is almost starting.”  
  
  
  
  
To Sebastian’s consternation, Jace goes to practice after school and sits on the bench. Lydia and Raj greet him, and a few others stare at him through the corner of their eyes, and the rest pretty much ignore him. He tries not to feel self-conscious, but other than light stretching there’s not much he can do. Sitting there watching the team work for two hours is torture, and he gets a very in-depth study of the movement of the ants over the concrete under the bleachers.  
  
He hits a low on the bus home, watching grey suburban house after grey suburban house crawl by in an endless string of identical fences and lawns. His ankle hurts, and he forgot to take a second dose of painkiller with him to school. All he’s eaten that day was the apple fritter, and overall he’s feeling intensely sorry for himself. He trudges off the bus and all but drags himself to the door. After a few seconds of fumbling with his keys manages to get the door open.   
  
Clary and Izzy are sitting on the couch, deep in conversation about raccoons and their “little grasping hands.” As Jace makes his way to the fridge he can hear them laughing hysterically and yelling “ _THICC_ ” repeatedly. There’s nothing in the fridge except some milk (expired two days ago) and a few wrinkly apples. Jace grabs one and his self-pity deepens, but he fills a glass of water and makes his way to his room to take his painkillers.  
  
He lies on his bed for a while scrolling aimlessly through facebook, which he hates and only looks at in his foulest of moods. Alec has posted a lot about his theatre group, and below his posts are a lot of banter with Magnus. Magnus uses a lot of emojis, especially the sparkly heart, and Jace is surprised he finds this almost whimsical rather than obnoxious. Still, there’s a sort of ache in his chest he can’t understand. He keeps scrolling.  
  
A text appears from a number Jace doesn’t recognize. Jace opens it.   
  
_> Hey sorry I took forever to text_  
 _> It’s Maia_  
 _> We met in pandemonium on Halloween??_  
 _> If this is a wrong number sorry lol _  
  
Jace stares at his screen in a combination of exhilaration and horror. Quickly he opens his conversation with Sebastian and types out,  
  
 _< SHE TEXTED ME HELP_  
  
 _>   lmao calm ur tits jace _😂😂😂  
 _> is this Halloween girl?  _👀  
 _> what did she say?_  
  
Jace screenshots her texts and sends them to Sebastian.  
  
 _> oh my god jace this isn’t a difficult conversation_  
 _>   how about a nice “hey this is jace” or is that too much for you?_  
  
 _< your bedside manner could use work _😒  
  
 _> I wasn’t aware you were dying _  
  
Jace rolls his eyes and returns to his conversation with Maia.  
  
 _< Hey this is Jace_  
  
 _> Sorry for not texting earlier, I had an exam and I honestly haven’t done anything but memorize protist taxa for a week_  
 _> I hate this fucking  major but is that going to stop me?? no_  
 _> what’s up with you?_  
  
 _< No worries I’ve been busy too_  
 _< Got injured in soccer actually, which sucks_  
 _< I’m just limping around and soaking up pity like a sponge_  
  
 _> ahhahhaha that’s awful, I’m sorry_  
 _> You healing okay??_  
 _> I tore something in my shoulder on the hockey team and it was terrible_  
  
Jace has to wince in sympathy. That sounded much worse than his ankle.  
  
 _< Ouch. I don’t think mine’s that bad. At least I hope_  
 _< Do you still play?_  
  
 _> Not much_  
 _> School takes up all my time :’’’’)_  
 _> I miss it, though_  
 _> Nothing like taking pent-up anger out on people twice my size_  
  
Jace laughs.  
  
 _< I wouldn’t particularly want to have you hurtling down an ice rink towards me at high speeds, either_  
  
 _> I’m glad_  
 _> I always aim to strike fear into the hearts of all passers-by_  
 _> Wait shit have I asked you where you go to school or what you study?_  
  
 _< I’m in senior year of high school lol_  
 _< I’ll probably study English lit if I get into college_  
 _< which is looking less and less likely by the day lmao_  
  
Jace tries not to think of soccer scholarships, which was pretty much the only way he or Jocelyn and Luke could possibly afford to send him to college.  
  
 _> Oh god I remember application stress_  
 _> Not gonna ask how you got into a club underage_  
 _> You’ve already applied, right?_  
 _> I got fuckin waitlisted for Stanford but didn’t get in, never cried so much in my life_  
 _> It passes. Try not to loose your mind over it_  
  
 _< Oh waitlisted for Standford, how horrible_  
 _< You must be such an awful student, only got straight A’s_  
 _< honestly that’s impressive you should be proud_  
  
 _> lmaoooooooooooooo_  
 _> Close but apparently not close enough_  
 _> Still I’m gonna try to transfer to Rutgers at the end of this year_  
 _> Hence the perpetual stress_  
  
 _< Fingers crossed_  
 _< I’ll write you a recommendation letter_  
 _< “dances well, makes good jokes, can yell loudly”_  
  
 _> pfft_  
 _> I’ll take it_  
 _> Add in something about my sparkling personality, innate genius, and prodigious talent and I’m all set_  
  
 _< That too. I’ll make sure to slip that in at the end._  
  
 _> Really subtly. Like oh and by the way, she’s god’s gift to mankind and a sparkling pearl of intellect. something like that_  
 _> How did the rest of your Halloween go btw?_  
  
 _Jace grimaces._  
  
 _< Pretty well_  
 _< Actually no that’s a fucking lie_  
 _< I threw up more than once and my friend ended up in the hospital_  
  
 _> Jesus I should have stayed to protect you guys from yourselves_  
 _> Is your friend okay?_  
  
Jace hesitates a moment.  
  
 _<   I don’t know._  
 _< He doesn’t really talk about things_  
 _< like he brushes me off when I ask_  
 _< He’s out of the hospital and stuff, though_  
  
 _> Sounds like you care about him a lot_  
  
Jace swallows, unsure of her implication and himself.  
  
 _<   yeah I do I guess_  
  
 _> He’s lucky to have a friend like you_  
 _> My friend Gretel and I are like that_  
 _> She can be a total pain in the ass but so can I, I literally don’t know what I’d do without her_  
 _> But shit has been rough between us lately_  
 _> Don’t give up trying to figure out what’s wrong, he’ll open up eventually_  
  
Jace bites at his lower lip. Now that he’d started being honest to someone—anyone—the truth was spilling out, like a compulsion.  
  
 _< I do know what’s wrong though. I have feelings I shouldn’t_  
  
He stares at the tiny black pixels, unable to believe he’d put it into words. The words seem etched into the screen, irrevocable. He feels sick and elated all at once.  
  
 _> Shouldn’t as in...? Does he have a boyfriend? If we’re talking about the same dude, he’s definitely not straight._  
  
 _< It’s complicated_  
  
 _> You don’t have to tell me lol_  
 _> but if you want to vent, I’m a certified relationship drama specialist_  
  
 _< My mother doesn’t like him_  
 _< Actually she hates him_  
 _< That’s just one of many reasons tbh_  
  
 _> Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhh_  
 _> Yeah I see. My parents didn’t like me being bi either_  
 _> We don’t talk anymore, but when we did it was....bad._  
 _> But look like...there’s nothing wrong with it. You’re not fucked up or crazy or whatever they think._  
  
Jace honestly doesn’t know how Jocelyn felt about the prospect of him being gay, or bi, or whatever, but he has to guess she wouldn’t exactly be thrilled. Still, it’s infinitely easier to have Maia think that’s what he means. And it isn’t like everyone at St. Xavier’s would suddenly trip over themselves to act normal about it. Besides Sebastian, who seems to get away with it through sheer force of personality alone, there are very few kids who openly admit to not being straight, and they’re pretty much ostracized. And frankly, Jace is far, far too terrified of the very idea of not being as straight as he’d known himself to be to mention it to anyone except someone who barely knew him like Maia.  
  
 _< Thanks. I’ve just been stressing about it I guess_  
 _< Sorry for dumping this on you_  
  
 _> Don’t apologize_  
 _> It’s good to talk about shit, trying to hold it in will only make you crazy_  
 _> What’s he like?_  
  
As if sensing the worst possible time to interrupt, Sebastian texts him,  
  
 _> Well??????  _👀👀  
 _> Have u hooked up yet??????? _  
  
_<   Shut the fuck up we literally just started talking._  
  
 _> Ughhhh you’re so booooooooooring_  
 _> I put “fucks on the first date” in my fucking tinder bio, never looked back _💅💅💅  
 _> Don’t tell me. u wanna hold hands first. look deeply into each others eyes. knit baby clothes and tearfully and heterosexually carry each other over the altar_  
  
Jace screenshots the exchange and sends it to Maia.  
  
 _< like this_  
  
 _> so a jackass._  
  
 _< yep._  
  
At that moment, a knock sounds on his door, followed by peals of giggling. “Jace! Jace, we can’t reach the Nutella, can you please come get it for us? Pleeease.”  
  
Jace sighs, swinging his legs off the bed with effort and dragging himself to his feet. “Coming.”  
  
He opens the door to reveal Clary and Izzy, who both look very guilty. “You weren’t doing anything important, were you?” Clary ventures.  
  
“Just talking to the girl of my dreams,” Jace says grumpily, but gives them his best attempt at a smile when their eyes widen in horror. “Ok not really, but we were talking. Is there even any Nutella? Why didn’t I know about this?”  
  
Clary gives a wide, guilty smile. “We’ll share?”  
  
“Only if you promise to go get more graham crackers from the dollar store,” Jace says, already dragging himself to the kitchen. “And if this is Luke’s special supply and you rat me out to him, I won’t hesitate to betray you.”  
  
Clary and Izzy laugh, as if amused by his antics. “He’ll never believe you. He knows we’re too short.”  
  
“And here I thought you cared.” Jace pulls the jar off the shelf and hands it to Clary, who offers him a high-wattage grin, already twisting it open.  
  
“Good luck with your love life,” Izzy calls after him as he turned to leave, and Jace isn’t quite sure if she’s making fun of him or not.   
  
  
  
  
“Well, do you like her?”  
  
Sebastian is smoking out the window, looking somewhere between bored and amused by Jace’s miseries. He’s not wearing a shirt, and the light of his screen lights the fine bones of his pale face like moonlight. Luke and Jocelyn are out at Clary’s volleyball game, so Jace can FaceTime Sebastian without fear of discovery. They’d started watching a horror film over rabb.it, but it had been boring so they’d both decided to turn it off.  
  
“I don’t know,” Jace says, the lie slipping through his teeth like melting ice. “She’s cool, I guess. Cooler than me, I mean.”  
  
Sebastian’s dark eyes turn towards the camera, lazy. “But?”  
  
The admission he’d made to Maia tugs at him but he pushes back, silencing it. “But I don’t know,” Jace says, a bit adamantly. He shrugs, helplessly. “I don’t know. I’m a dude. I don’t know how emotions work.”  
  
Sebastian rolls his eyes. “Correction. Heteros don’t know how emotions work.”   
  
“Heteros,” Jace repeats, as if tasting the word. It sounds dull and bland in his mouth, even more so rolling off Sebastian’s sharp tongue. His voice, more than usual, seems to drip with derision.  
  
“Heterosexuals,” Sebastian explains, as if Jace is an idiot.  
  
“I know what it means!” Jace snaps.  
  
Sebastian blows smoke out the window in lieu of a response, and Jace catches a glimpse of the darkness outside. “I don’t know. Ask her to hang out. She looks like she’d make the first move if she’s into you. You can find out then.”  
  
It occurs to Jace this might possibly be the worst advice he’s ever received, but he has no interest in thinking about it. This is not the conversation he wanted to be having, the words that are slowly growing wings and legs, liable to leap out of his mouth at any moment. “Can I ask you a sort of weird question?”  
  
Sebastian raises an eyebrow. “Unless it’s about my incredible skincare regimen, no.”  
  
Jace ignores him, already searching for the words. “How did you know you were gay?”  
  
For a moment annoyance flashes across Sebastian’s features, and anxiety spikes through Jace like a lance. Then his expression settles back into lazy nonchalance. “How did you know you were straight?” he counters, then after a moment seems to grow bored of his answer and shrugs. “I don’t know. Not thinking about girls. Being curious about guys. Lots of porn,” he adds with a superior smirk, as if he’s somehow cornered that particular market. Not that Jace really watches it—Jocelyn may not understand technology, but Luke does, and Jace doesn’t need him to find that going through the router log. Or, god forbid, Clary. And using a VPN or something makes him feel like a fucking pervert.  
  
“It wasn’t really any one thing,” Sebastian continues. “I sort of always knew. It wasn’t a big deal.”  
  
Wasn’t a big deal. These words ring hollow to Jace somehow, but he’s not sure whether its for Sebastian or himself. “And Val knows?” Jace tries to keep his voice nonchalant, and if what it sounds to his own ears is anything to go by, fails. He feels like Mulan impersonating Ping.  
  
“I haven’t told him to his face,” Sebastian says. “But I downloaded the entire series of _RuPaul’s Drag Race_ onto his laptop, so he knows. Fucking Annalise knows. She got me a barista’s number once.”  
  
“Really?” A tectonic plate in Jace’s perception of Annalise shifts. “That’s kind of sweet.”  
  
“He was straighter than Piers Morgan’s twitter account,” Sebastian says, sounding annoyed. “Why the sudden interest? Thinking of joining the GSA and going to Pride with your new girlfriend?”  
  
“Uh, no,” Jace says, but this does nothing to ameliorate Sebastian’s sudden bad temper. “I was just curious. Sorry.”  
  
“Also she’s not my girlfriend,” he adds a few seconds later. “And she’s bisexual.”  
  
“I couldn’t give half a fuck, Jace.” He stubs out his cigarette on the windowsill, then shuts the window with a dull _bam_ and makes his way back to his bed, where he lies back against the pristine white pillows so he can prop his phone up on his knees. “Look, if you like this Maia person, ask her out. To coffee, if you have to. But if you take her anywhere worse than Starbucks I’ll fucking murder you on her behalf.”  
  
“She lives in another city,” Jace says.  
  
Sebastian shrugs. “Enough of your fucking navel-gazing. Camille’s party next Friday. Are you going?”  
  
“Isn’t there one this Saturday?” Jace asks. Not that he can go to that one either, but the omission is interesting.  
  
“Yeah, but we’re going to Annalise’s fucking vacation home this weekend. Val’s flying in, so it’s like a royal affair.” From the way his eyes are fixed intently on the screen, Sebastian is playing some sort of game on his phone. “Last year I couldn’t even get data out there. Not even 3G. It was fucking horrible.”  
  
“Where is it?” Jace can’t help his curiosity.   
  
“Hell if I know. Buttfuck nowhere. Except buttfuck nowhere actually sounds fun.” Sebastian’s eyes take on a dreamy aspect. “Buttfuck Nowhere, the mythical land where tops abound and take turns calling you a slut and  fucking you senseless.”  
  
“That doesn’t sound like a family vacation,” Jace comments.  
  
“Well they do say incest is the game you can play with the entire family—“  
  
“I will end this fucking call,” Jace threatens, but he’s grinning.   
  
“You’re the one who wants to fuck Annalise’s fake tits.” Sebastian’s eyes are impish. “I guess there’s no accounting for taste.”  
  
“I do not!” Jace protests, very hotly. “She’s like....three times my age.”  
  
Sebastian’s grin is evil. “And post-menopausal.”  
  
“Ok, that’s a plus,” Jace counters, reasonably. “Like, for everyone. No more bleeding, no more babies. Probably knows what an orgasm is. Hopefully.”  
  
“I’ll put in a word for you to replace our pool boy,” Sebastian says, looking gleeful. “Oh my god, speaking of which, I found one of her fucking suburban mom erotica books in the living room. It’s fucking hilarious, wait till you hear this shit.”  
  
He ducks out of frame for a few seconds, then appears with hair askew and the sordid book in hand. He holds it up for Jace to see, and Jace can just make out tan skin and abs before the camera focuses to reveal an oiled man rippling with extremely fake-looking muscle, framed in red roses probably taken off stockimages.  
  
“Is he from Buttfuck Nowhere?” Jace asks innocently.  
  
“I wish,” Sebastian mutters. “No, he goes for some bitch named Ana...oh my god. Anabelle. Why do they all have these awful names.” Before Jace can offer a theory, he flips it open to a random page and begins to read. “ _And then Jace the sexy pool boy snagged her lacy panties and shimmied them over her supple, heaving hips—_ ‘ Jesus Christ. She can’t actually read this shit. I’ve had bad sex better than this. If she’s this desperate, she might fucking pay you.”  
  
Jace tries to imagine Jocelyn reading such a thing, and fails. “You can stop trying to matchmake me with your dad’s girlfriend now.”  
  
“If you insist.” Sebastian puts the book down, interest lost. “But seriously, Camille’s party next Saturday. We should go.”  
  
Jace looks away from the screen. “I’m grounded.”  
  
“I know. Tell her you’re going to a game, or an orgy, I don’t care. Or that you got a job as a pool boy,” he adds, with a superior smile.  
  
“Fuck you,” Jace says, while smiling. He turns over at a noise from outside the window. “You’re the biggest asshole I know.”  
  
“I’m actually quite tight—“  
  
“Fuck.” Jace rolls off the bed, nearly hitting his ankle on his desk chair. “They’re back. See you tomorrow.” He ends the call, heart slamming against his ribs. Against his better judgment, he makes his way into the kitchen. Clary is chattering excitedly to Luke—they must have won—and Jocelyn looks tired, and annoyed.  
  
“Jace,” she says, when she sees him. “Did you go to the store and get potatoes like I asked?”  
  
Fuck. After Sebastian had FaceTimed, he’d forgotten about the potatoes entirely. “Uh, no. Sorry,” he says.  
  
Jocelyn’s head tilts and she aims a cold glare his way. “I asked you to do one thing, Jace. One thing.”  
  
“Sorry,” he says again, louder to cover the rising anger burning in chest. “I forgot. I’ll go get them now—“  
  
“You forgot.” Jocelyn’s words are chopped short. “Funny how I find that hard to believe.”  
  
“I’m going!” Jace shouts, grabbing his keys off the wall and limping towards the door, hating his boot and his mother all the while. It’s not a particularly dignified feeling. “Anything else you want while I’m out? In case you’d forgotten, I can barely fucking walk!”  
  
“I can go, Mom,” Clary offers, in a timid voice. She hates it when he and Jocelyn fight, but damn if that’s going to stop him now.  
  
“No.” Jocelyn’s voice is hard. “Jace can go.”  
  
Jace slams the door behind him and flips off the house when he’s sure he won’t be seen. It’s immature but he can’t help it, filled with helpless anger. It’s not Jocelyn’s fault. Her request wasn’t outlandish, he’s being a brat. It’s the feeling of Sebastian’s body against his own, his skin still faintly buzzing in his memory where they’d touched. He can yell all he wants, but that’s not going away.   
  
Jace pulls out Sebastian’s phone and jams his earbuds in his ears. The phone is full of angry, edgy music Sebastian swears he only listened to in middle school, and though Jace doesn’t entirely believe him there is something viscerally satisfying to his rushing blood screaming along with My Chemical Romance’s second album. By the time he’s gotten to the store he’s calmed down, though his ankle still hurts. He grabs a sack of potatoes, not giving a fuck if they’re the ones Jocelyn wanted, and digs in his pockets for change. He scrapes together enough and presents the handful of coins to the nearest cashier, who eyes the accompanying pocket lint with some disdain.  
  
When he pushes open the front door Clary’s passed out on the couch, kneepads still around her ankles. He spreads the blanket haphazardly pulled over arms up to her shoulders, then goes to dump the potatoes on the kitchen table.  
  
“Jace—“ Jocelyn says.  
  
“I’m going to practice tomorrow,” he says, already heading for his room. “It’ll run late.”  
  
He shuts the door before he can hear her response.  
  
  
  
  
They began _The Great Gatsby_ in Starkweather’s English class. Jace had already read it at his old school, but he had enjoyed the book and was content to take out the previously built and discarded sets of West Egg from his imagination and dust them off. Only the first chapter had been due, and Jace remembered it well, and let Starkweather’s voice float through his head as he read Nick Carroway’s opening narration, of discontentment, always observing, always the outsider, even in his own mind. His curiosity about Gatsby, the faint air of mystery about him, Nick’s building curiosity, all as familiar as a hazy summer day on the soccer pitch.  
  
Long after the bell’s rung he’s still there, throwing his books into his bag and attempting to gather his scattered belongings. A few stragglers are already showing for the next period; Starkweather hovers over and hands Jace his pencil case, almost absently. He has a habit of looking at Jace and others with intense wariness, as if afraid they might explode into violence at any moment.  
  
“Excellent work on your _Hard Times_ essay,” he says, in a vague sort of way as if addressing the room at large rather than Jace himself. “You’ve an eye for literature. Have you considered a career in English?”  
  
“Uh, yeah,” Jace says, a bit unsure. “I mean, uh, thank you. I was worried I was completely off the mark.”  
  
“You might be,” Starkweather says. “But you defended your position well. It made for interesting reading.” He eyes the clock as if startled, then gestures a bit pointlessly. “I’ll let you go, then.”  
  
Sebastian’s waiting outside the door, sending Camille bored selfies with a snapchat filter that wreaths his pale hair in hearts and makes his eyes sparkle. “There you are,” he says, looking pleased. “Fucking finally.”  
  
“No sympathy for the wounded,” Jace sighs, and elbows him. A sudden bug of viral carelessness has infected him, making him restless. “Do you want to skip history? Go somewhere?”  
  
Sebastian turns to him in surprise, as if seeing him anew. “Who are you, and what did you do to the old, boring Jace?” Before Jace can protest, he adds, “Just kidding, I don’t give a shit. C’mon, let’s go.” He grabs Jace’s wrist, a lively bounce in his step that wasn’t there before. “Let’s get burgers,” he says. “I know the best place. The nachos are incredible. And they have the greatest fucking milkshakes.”  
  
Ordinarily, Jace would never eat such a thing during season, but his rebellious streak holds. Keeping pace with Sebastian, he follows him to his locker, then Jace’s, grabbing their stuff and pretending to head out the back towards the gym. Then they make for the parking lot, not too fast to catch attention, not too slow to hang around for questions. In minutes they’re on the road, windows down, breeze tearing at their face and breathing freshness into their lungs. Sebastian has on a playlist that has way too much Beastie Boys and Lady GaGa to possibly be good, and it fits the mood like a glove. Jace notices Sebastian drives like a maniac, but he’s too elated to care. They pull up to the parking lot of the burger place and Jace’s stomach lurches—he’s fucking hungry.  
  
“Let me order,” Sebastian says, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. Jace doesn’t argue—the menu was too small to be read, anyway. “I’ll get their best stuff. Trust me.”  
  
One milkshake, two burgers, one and a half serving of fries, and one portion of nachos later, Jace is in incredible pain but more satisfied than he’d felt in his life. Sebastian, for his smaller size, manages to eat almost as much, and fusses in the driver’s seat about a splotch of ketchup he’s gotten on his uniform shirt.  
  
When they get back to Val’s house, Annalise’s car is in the driveway. Sebastian rolls his eyes but powers off the car and grabs his backpack out of the back seat, pushing the car door open and slamming it shut. Jace follows suit and tails him to the front door, smiling awkwardly at Annalise and trying not to think about her dime novel erotica.  
  
“How was school, honey?” she asks, a bit tentatively.  
  
“Still have AIDS,” was Sebastian’s reply. Jace gives her an apologetic smile over Sebastian’s shoulder and follows him up the stairs to his room. It’s messy—Jace knows they have a maid service, but Sebastian hates them and prefers to keep up his room on his own. Despite his breezy affectations, he’s intensely private at times. Jace is no stranger to hiding things.  
  
“You should get an instagram,” Sebastian says, already lying on his unmade bed.  
  
Jace rolls his eyes. “You only tell me that twenty times a day. Honestly, why don’t you make dummy accounts to like your own damn photos?”  
  
Sebastian waves his comments away impatiently. “No, I mean you should make an account for yourself. The photo I posted of you is getting popular.”  
  
Jace feels the urge to groan. Given the number of ugly snapchats of him Sebastian sends to Camille, this can’t be good. “Thanks for asking.”  
  
“It’s a good photo, relax.” Sebastian gestures impatiently for him to join him on the bed. “Look.” He holds out his phone; delicately, and with trepidation, Jace takes it.  
  
His first impression is that he looks both like and totally unlike himself—attractive and interesting, like Sebastian always does. It’s clearly a candid, taken while Jace is half-laughing, and the light gleams in his hair making it golden rather than brownish, and his eyes seem more colorful than they are usually. Even his jacket, bought for fifteen dollars at the nearest thrift store, looks artfully weathered rather than cheap and worn.  
  
Jace looks at him accusingly. “You photoshopped it.”  
  
“Maybe a little,” Sebastian admits. “But it was mostly applying filters. And editing out all your hideous deformities.”  
  
Jace’s attention strays to the comments, where account after account exclaims how cute he is, or on his eyes, though a few catch his attention, making his stomach twist uncomfortably.  
  
 _Is that your boyfriend?_  
  
“You should delete it,” Jace says, handing the phone back. “Jocelyn could see, and after she painted the ceiling with my blood she’d be out for yours.”  
  
Sebastian rolls his eyes. “I’ll put it on my private account. I check everyone that follows me so I’d know if she saw it.” His eyes took on a naughty gleam. “Can I catfish people with your face on grindr?”  
  
“No!”  
  
“Killjoy,” Sebastian mutters, and Jace has a feeling he’s going to do it anyway. A few minutes later they’re facebook-stalking Sebastian’s exes, both at St. Xavier’s and random people he met on the internet. Sebastian alternately ridicules their lack of sexual prowess or rues the loss, and Jace is amused to recognize a few of their classmates.After that he gets bored and lets Jace show him his old friends, and is intensely disappointed to know Alec is dating. (“Do they do threesomes?” he asks innocently, once he’s seen Magnus’ profile as well). He makes fun of Clary’s friend Simon, rather unfairly, Jace thinks, and is appreciative of Aline and Helen’s prom photos.  
  
It’s a bit weird, and it hurts to see their profiles empty of him, but it feels good to show them to Sebastian, as if he’s a step closer to letting them go. He hates the idea of letting Alec go, but Alec doesn’t seem to miss him at all. He says as much, trying to quash as much self-pity from his voice as he can and failing, and Sebastian looks about as sympathetic as Jace had ever seen him.   
  
“You don’t know that,” he says.  
  
They go outside by the pool after that, and Jace puts Alec and Magnus out of his mind and tries to enjoy the sunlight. It’s surprisingly warm, and he can put his good foot into the water and try not to feel sorry for himself. Sebastian, pale as the sunscreen he lathers over his skin, refuses to brave the sunlight, and Jace can’t help but laugh at him.  
  
“Fuck you, Jace,” he says, but it’s not without some fondness.  
  
It’s hard to return home, but the fear of truly incurring Jocelyn’s wrath any further drives him back. Sebastian drops him off at the bus stop, and tells him to text in case he can get LTE over the weekend.  
  
When he gets back to the house, Jocelyn is locked in her studio and Luke isn’t home yet—it’s nearly eleven. Clary is Skyping with Simon at the kitchen table, laughing uproariously and yelling at him about which Star Wars film is the best. As Jace pours himself a glass of orange juice they switch from that to their Skyrim characters, and the best strategies to switch from werewolves to vampires.  
  
He returns to his room, throwing a few clothes from the morning into the hamper and straightening his textbooks on his desk. His computer whines to life and he plugs in his phone, grabbing his medication and downing it with the rest of his orange juice. Maia’s texted him, and he replies, but he knows she won’t be able to reply any time soon. Her Mammalian Development midterm is on Wednesday, and she’s been stressing about it for a week. He sends her encouragement and offers to quiz her over Skype, if she wants. He texts Sebastian too, but he doesn’t get a response. He falls asleep waiting for a reply.  
  
  
  
  
  
Jace wakes the next day to the smell of pancakes and a deep sense of wanting to go back to sleep. With effort, he grabs his phone and checks for messages, but gets none. It’s past noon and his ankle aches; he groans and rolls back over to go back to sleep—  
  
“Jace!” It’s Clary. “Luke says to get your butt out of bed, or he’ll come in there and steal your blankets.” In a slightly more conciliatory tone, she adds, “Also there’s pancakes?”  
      
Jace makes a noise of assent, opening his phone and firing off a quick hey you there? message to Sebastian. He should be in Buttfuck Nowhere by now—a locale which Jace later found out was actually Prince Edward Island, from Anne of Green Gables. He drags himself out of bed and throws on a hoodie over his pajama pants and shirt, then shoves his foot into his brace and trudged into the kitchen.  
  
“The creature emerges from the lair,” Luke announces with a dramatic air, in between pancakes. “Did you sleep well?”  
  
Jace shrugs and sits down at the table. There’s some paperwork of Luke’s, some of Clary’s homework, a bill or two. “Where’s Jocelyn?”  
  
Luke and Clary exchange looks. “She won’t be joining us, right now,” Luke says, a bit carefully. Jace tries to catch Clary’s eye, but she’s busy making pancakes in the shape of raccoons. “Fatter!” she exclaims at intervals, taking a picture to send to Isabelle.  
  
There was a time Jace would have laughed along and taken pictures to send to Alec, but these were not those times.   
  
Luke attempts to make small talk, asking about his classes and when his next exams are, how making friends is going, and whether his ankle feels better. Jace lies on all counts, that he’s enjoying his classes, that he’s meeting people, and his ankle is feeling a bit better.  
  
Luke goes outside into the garage to get another bottle of Pam, leaving Clary in charge of the griddle. As soon as he’s outside, Jace says, “So what’s wrong with Jocelyn?”  
  
Clary turns, worry grey on her face. “It’s her painting,” she says, looking towards the floor. “It’s...not going the way she wants. She’s stressed out—the gallery wants it by the end of the month, but there’s no way it’s going to be ready by then. I don’t think she’s eating—whenever Luke goes in the studio, he comes out with a full plate.”  
  
There’s not even one painterly bone in Jace’s body, but for a moment he almost sympathizes with Jocelyn’s stress. “Is there anything we can do?”  
  
Clary shrugs helplessly. “I don’t think so. She won’t be back to normal until it’s done.”  
  
Jace knows better than to ask what would happen if she doesn’t. At that moment, Luke returns, and both of them straighten and pretend they hadn’t been talking. “How are the raccoons coming?” Luke asks, shutting the door behind him.  
  
Clary grins at him. “Nice and fat. I think this one’s obese.”  
  
Luke chuckles. “Might want to stop feeding them.”  
  
“But I’m fattening them up to eat them,” Clary protests. “Oh god, that makes me a monster.”  
  
“There’s worse types,” Luke says gravely.   
  
“I could be training them for war,” Clary says. “Like dolphins. Don’t they train dolphins for war? Battle raccoons. Simon would love it.”  
  
“How is Simon?” Jace asks, without any real interest. Simon may have mentioned Alec, and that’s who he really wants to hear about.  
  
“He’s doing good,” Clary says. “Started a DnD group and wants me to join over Skype, and I think I will. He’s made a few friends—I’m really happy, I was worried. He says it’s not the same without us, though.”  
  
Her words seemed to sink into the linoleum floor, and Luke put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s hard to leave your friends,” he says, and though the words are superficial his sympathy seems mostly real. “I’m glad you could get in touch.”  
  
Jace looks away, heat stinging his eyes.  
  
Once the pancakes are finished, he eats a few, then thanks Clary and returns to his room. He puts his phone under his pillow and climbs back into bed. Usually he’d be at practice right now, not sitting around doing nothing. But he can’t even do light exercise—walking is about as good as it gets. He buries his head in his pillow and tries to go back to sleep.  
  
  
  
  
Jocelyn doesn’t appear for dinner or breakfast and lunch the next day. Jace eats a minimal amount but doesn’t really have an appetite—even Clary, usually stubbornly cheerful, seems grumpy and irritable. Luke mostly looks tired, the kind of tired that drags at his limbs and lines his eyes with sleeplessness. Bills pile up in the mailbox, lined in red and increasingly dire. Jace can hardly drag himself out of bed, but he has the energy to check his phone for notifications like a nervous tic. He tries to imagine Sebastian, Annalise, and Val at dinner, and fails. He can hardly imagine his serious ex-stepfather paired with Annalise’s cheerful dithering and Sebastian’s barbed tongue.  
  
He wonders if they think of him at all.  
  
After lunch, when Jace ignored Clary’s calls for him to join them, there’s Luke’s heavy footsteps and then a firm knock on the door. Jace makes a noise of assent, and the door opens. Luke doesn’t look pissed off—if anything, he looks worried. “You okay?” he asks, in the gentle way he talks to Clary when she’s upset.  
  
Jace nods. “I’m fine.”  
  
Luke shuts the door behind him, sitting down on Jace’s desk chair. “You sure about that?”  
  
Loneliness wells up in his chest and threatens to spill over, but Jace holds it in with supreme effort, bottom lip pinched between his teeth. He can’t burden Luke now—not with everything else. Work, bills, and Jocelyn have him stretched thin as it is.  
  
“Well, I got injured my Junior year,” Luke says into the silence. “Couldn’t play for weeks. It’s rough. The game was everything to me, and suddenly I didn’t have it. I couldn’t cope. I imagine you’re going through the same thing, so if you need to talk, I’m here.”  
  
Jace let out a silent breath. This—this he could deal with. Let off some steam without weighing Luke down. “Yeah,” he replies, putting some of his relief into the word. “I...I just miss it. And my old team. It’s hard without seeing the team as often and being able to play and...practice and work gave my life structure. I barely know what to do without it.”  
  
Luke nodded, and some of the tension in his broad shoulders bled out. “You’ll get better, son,” he says. “Don’t think otherwise.” He offers a serious smile. “I’ll talk to Jocelyn once she comes round. No matter what’s gone down between you two, she should understand what your sport means to you. Let alone your scholarships.”  
  
A painful lump rises in Jace’s throat, though he isn’t quite sure why. “Thank you,” he says, his voice a bit rough.  
  
“No problem,” Luke replies, and he sounds sincere, and very tired. “Is there anything else? Senior year is hard enough without changing schools.”  
  
There’s a thousand things Jace could say—about Sebastian, about Alec, even about Quinn tripping him or Jocelyn or even Clary and Izzy, but his heart speeds even at the thought of mentioning any of that so he stays silent.  Instead he offers a weak half-smile, but it takes an almost titanic effort.   
  
“It’s okay,” he says, and his words ring very hollow. “I’m getting through.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter are pretty tame: parental conflict, discussion of divorce, brief mention of drug anad alcohol use and misuse, continuing ://// sexism from Seb towards poor Annalise, mention of parental homophobia, abuse of emojis.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed! I apologize for the rough update schedule—it's all in how fast I can write the next chapters. Let me know what you think and see you next time! 💕


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the rough update schedule, it's hard to keep up with a story this long. Hope you guys enjoy! Check out the end notes for detailed warnings.

“I need a hangover,” Sebastian groans.  
  
Jace frowns. “Isn’t it usually, ‘I need a drink?’”  
  
“A drink isn’t going to cut it. I need raging headache to paper over the first raging headache induced by my so-called vacation.”  
  
Jace raises his eyebrows in sympathy. He’s theoretically re-reading _The Great Gatsby_ before class, but Nick’s navel-gazing pales in comparison to Sebastian’s complaining. “That bad?”  
  
“He thinks I’m still twelve or something,” Sebastian says, sounding bitter. “Lectured me about _responsibility_ and _choices_ and then asked me if I need to go to fucking _rehab_ , like a I’m some sort of child-star-turned-addict. I swear to god he doesn’t even know me. And Annalise just sat there like a fat cow with that stupid smile on her face, and they told me not to do it again and then left me in her stupid _chalet_ to go to some stupid dinner with their fucking lawyer friends and go on _nature hikes_. Literally the most exciting thing that happened was when I overheard them having sex, and it didn’t even sound that good. Heteros,” he finishes, as if this summed up all the evils in the world.  
  
“Wow,” is all Jace can think to say.  
  
“Rehab!” Sebastian repeats, much more loudly, in case Jace hadn’t heard. He brandishes his Subway sandwich Jace’s way, dumping roast beef onto his leather backpack. He swears and stuffs it back in between the folds of lettuce, sucking angrily at his ranch-dressing slicked fingers. “Thank god he’s back in fucking Switzerland. Also, I drank half their wine cabinet. Not actually half,” he adds, to Jace’s incredulous expression. “But considering how much she spent on it, it made a bigger dent in her wallet than it made in my liver. The bitch likes dessert wines—isn’t that just fucking typical?”  
  
“Revenge is a dish best served liquid and on a full stomach,” Jace comments. The relief at just hearing Sebastian’s voice is palatable, sweetness surging through his blood. “You, uh, have a bit of ranch. Yeah, right there. Got it.”  
  
Sebastian scowls at a passing freshman, who skitters past in abject terror. “Whatever. I’m back, and they’ll have to knock me out next time before they drag me back to that hellhole. How was your fucking weekend?”  
  
Jace shrugs, carefully noncommittal. “Shitty. Jocelyn’s locked herself in her studio with her next painting, I think she may have gone crazy. Luke worked the whole time and Clary spent a lot of time at Izzy’s—I can’t fucking blame her.”  
  
“She was always weird,” Sebastian agrees, taking another bite of his sandwich. “Also, I met this almost hot guy on grindr, but he’s one of Camille’s exes so I can’t even fuck him.”  
  
“A tragedy,” Jace says. “Right up there with Hector and Andromache.”  
  
“I don’t know what that means, but fuck you anyways.” Sebastian offers him a cookie, which Jace accepts. “Do you want to see a movie after school? There’s this new one where apparently Ryan Reynolds takes off his shirt for like, 40% of the film.”  
  
“Can’t. Someone has to be there for Clary’s volleyball practice, and Luke has to go get groceries during it.”  
  
Sebastian groans dramatically, as if he’s been stabbed. “Well can you come over for dinner Thursday? Annalise is threatening to have her stupid friends over and I don’t think I’ll get through without someone to stop me from stabbing them with the cutlery.”  
  
“Sure,” says Jace. Jocelyn sure isn’t going to stop him, and Luke is too busy to scrutinize him. And he’s pretty sure Clary won’t rat.  
  
“And Camille’s party on Friday?” Sebastian is fixing him with his prettiest smile, the one which he usually reserves for selfies only. His pale lashes catch the afternoon light and almost seem to glow.  
  
“You have lettuce in your teeth,” Jace says.  
  
Sebastian rolls his eyes, but picks it out and flicks it into the hallway. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”  
  
“Last time you said that, you ended up in the emergency room and I nearly vomited out my intestinal lining.”  
  
“We don’t have to drink,” Sebastian says. He’s now giving Jace his most innocent eyes, which don’t really look that innocent at all, but it tends to fool teachers, who for the most part adore him or at least tolerate him. “We can leave whenever your fragile sensibilities are sullied.”  
  
Jace rolls his eyes. “You’re the biggest asshole I’ve ever met.”  
  
“I’ll tell her you said yes.” Sebastian snaps a picture of Jace’s disapproving face to Camille and Raphael (a group called “bad bitches do it well”) with the caption _local elderly man falls and breaks his hip_ , then turns on the puppy filter and drags Jace in for a selfie. He looks adorable. Jace hates him.  
   
  
  
  
  
By the time Thursday has rolled around, Maia has defeated her Mammalian Development exam, and fielded a lot of Jace’s worry about Jocelyn, who has taken to sleeping in the studio and still rarely eating. Jace feels selfish wishing Alec would message him back, but he can’t help feeling a bit resentful of Jocelyn, or wondering if she’s doing this for sympathy. Either way, it doesn’t make him feel that much more favorably towards her.  
  
Maia has problems of her own—her work-study job is running out, and she doesn’t even have her parents to rely on. And Gretel hasn’t been talking to her much, and it’s stressing her out. They chat in between their classes, sometimes about serious things, sometimes about videogames or which version of _Pride and Prejudice_ is better. She reads a lot, but different things than Jace does—she prefers nonfiction, contemporary literature, sci-fi, or thrillers, where Jace prefers the classics and rom-coms, though they do share a soft spot for _Jane Eyre_. She can’t stand _Anne of Green Gables_ , but Jace loves it.  
  
“Texting your girlfriend?” Sebastian asks, in the smug sort of way only he can manage.  
  
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Jace replies, for the millionth time, throwing his backpack into the back seat of Sebastian’s car. It smells like fries and Sebastian’s favorite cherry-scented lotion. He has the matching body spray and has an annoying tendency to spray it in Jace’s face.  
  
“Uh huh. Use protection, I don’t want to see your hideous babies.”  
  
Jace ignores him. “You’re the one who keeps telling Annalise you have AIDS.”  
  
“Who says I don’t?” Sebastian asks.   
  
“Given your germophobe tendencies, I doubt it.”  
  
“Germophobe tendencies?” Sebastian sounds legitimately offended. “I’m not a germophobe. Why am I a germophobe?”    
  
Jace raises his eyebrows. “You own hand sanitizer. Smelly hand sanitizer. And use it.” Sebastian has multiple bottles, all in different colors and smells, and makes Jace opine on all of them at Bath and Body works. They got a lot of filthy looks.  
  
“Just because you have the sanitation of a wild boar does _not_ make me a germophobe.” Sebastian sits down in the driver’s seat with a wounded huff. “Who says you’re not projecting? And what’s wrong with having a healthy appreciation of Bath and Body Works?”  
  
“Uh huh,” Jace says, grinning at his screen. When he and Sebastian arrive at Val’s house, Annalise and her friends have already assembled at the dining table, chattering away. Sebastian dumps his backpack in the foyer and kicks off his black leather Chelsea boots, starting into the living room with a smile that spells utter disaster. He cuts an tall, impressive figure compared to the drab, aging men and women at the table, the rose-colored light catching his white hair like a sunset halo.  
  
“There you are, sweetie,” Annalise calls. She smiles at Jace and he returns it awkwardly. “Why don’t you sit down?”  
  
Sebastian draws up a high-backed, dark wood chair and Jace mutters thanks as the woman on his other side wiggles about to make room for a chair for him.  
  
“Doesn’t he look just like his father,” says the woman next to Annalise, laying her laquered-nailed hand on Annalise’s arm. Sebastian glares her way but says nothing and Jace fixes his glance very carefully on the stark white of his plate. The silverware is all weighty and fancy, and he’s relieved to see the meal is mostly healthy. He feels out of place but smiles along at intervals in the conversation—now about equities and something called CLA credits—trying to subtly elbow Sebastian, who is visibly texting on his phone.  
  
“So what do you do, sweetie?” A woman from the opposite end of the table asks, smiling Sebastian’s way.  
  
His black eyes barely flick up from his phone screen. “I’m an ex-Catholic whore currently enjoying congress out of wedlock with my black Jewish boyfriend.”  
  
Into the slightly brittle silence, Annalise says with a strained smile, “He’s a senior in High School. At St. Xavier’s.” A chorus of _aah’s_ circle the table and conversation bubbles back up, smoothing over the upset like expensive champagne over crystal.  
  
“You stole that from _Kingsman_ ,” Jace whispers. Sebastian smiles, practically glittering in self-contented amusement. Not for the first time, Jace wonders exactly what it is he has against Annalise—sure, she’s a bit awkward, but she’s nothing like strict, angry Jocelyn, and she means well.  
  
Dinner is a fancy salad, quinoa, pasta spinach rolls, and a smattering of equally fancy appetizers, like handmade spanikopita and vegan spring rolls from a local restaurant. Annalise’s friends coo over the food and Sebastian offers the occasional barbed comment that make Annalise’s smiles falter. Once dinner is over and her friends leave, one by one with hugs and effusive thanks, Annalise, Jace, and Sebsatian are alone. Sebastian is on the couch messaging Raphael about the party tomorrow, and Annalise is staring slightly crestfallen at the mostly-eaten food.  
  
“You didn’t have to do that,” she says, and she sounds so uncharacteristically sad Jace’s heart goes out to her.  
  
Sebastian looks up, unaffected. “Do what?”  
  
Annalise looks away, as if guilty. “Do...do that.”  
  
“Someone had to take you pompous assholes with your fucking quinoa heart food antioxidant bullshit down a notch,” Sebastian says. He gets up, stretches, entirely untroubled. “Not to mention you’re all fucking boring.”  
  
Annalise looks at him, rather deflated. Then, rather tentatively, she says, “Did you not like the food?”  
  
Jace winces preemptively as Sebastian scoffs. “The food? I don’t give a shit about the food. It’s you and your stupid friends I can’t fucking stand.”  
  
Annalise looks as if she might berate him, but doesn’t quite have the heart to do it. Jace can’t stand it, watching her brown eyes well with tears, and for the first time he feels angry, really angry, at Sebastian.  
  
“I liked it,” he says, throwing a glare Sebastian’s way. “I’ve never had quinoa before.”  
  
Annalise brightens somewhat, wiping at her eyes. “I hope you liked the quinoa,” she says, then turns and flees for her and Val’s office, shutting the door behind her. Sebastian turns and starts up the stairs and by the way he takes two at a time, he’s pissed about something. Jace can’t imagine what. He’s still pissed off, too, at Sebastian and at himself, for some stupid reason he can’t fathom.   
  
“Was that necessary?” Jace demands, once the door to Sebastian’s room is shut behind them. “You made fun of her in front of her friends. You fucking made her cry. And don’t say I want to fuck her again, I’m fucking serious.”  
  
Sebastian glares up at him from the bed, expression unreadable. Jace glares back, trying to ignore the hammering of his heart in his chest. Then he looks away, towards his desk. “You’re right.”  
  
It’s unexpected, and knocks the firey wind from Jace’s sails. He gestures vaguely, already feeling badly. “Look, I don’t know what goes on between the two of you, but from where I’m standing she’s not all that bad. Save that shit for someone who deserves it.”  
  
Sebastian flops onto his back, phone lying on his chest, staring at the lazily spinning ceiling fan. “What do you want me to do, apologize? ‘Sorry for ruining your stupid dinner, your friends are lovely and have really great tit jobs?’ Even the dudes,” he finishes, with a slight curl of his lips.  
  
Jace refuses to be baited. “How about, ‘Sorry for treating you like shit?’”  
  
“You’re no fun.”  
  
“And you’re still an asshole.”  
  
Sebastian sighs, folding one long leg over the edge of the bed. His jeans are artistically cuffed, just above the ankle. “Fine. I’ll apologize. Once she blows off some fucking steam—and drinks an entire bottle of her shit wine.”  
  
Jace doesn’t reply, sitting down on the beanbag in the corner of the room and pulling out his phone. He does understand the irony of ignoring Sebastian with the phone Sebastian gave him, but is still annoyed enough at him to justify it to himself. They text in silence for a moment—Clary is home alone trying to find peanut butter—then Sebastian suddenly hauls himself upright and gets up, tossing his phone onto the bed and making for the door in silence.  
  
Jace looks around the room for a while. He has a few posters—mostly small, for his favorite videogames. There’s a conspicuous _Fight Club_ poster with a muscular, shirtless Brad Pitt, and he has the distinct feeling its decorative value doesn’t stem from Sebastian’s artistic appreciation of the film. The room is equal parts organized and messy—clothes are piled on his desk and his hamper is overflowing, but his closet is meticulously organized and his shoes are lined up almost perfectly on the floor. The closet light is on, and Jace notices he has a huge collection of clothes, all beautiful and multicolored like jewels, probably all fitting him like they were tailored to him.  
  
Sebastian’s phone buzzes and Jace jumps guiltily, as if caught snooping. It continues to buzz, and Jace stands up with some difficulty and climbs onto the bed, grabbing it and looking at the screen. Val was calling. Jace swallows, pushing back on the temptation to pick up, even if he had to pretend to be someone else. He shouldn’t. Besides, Annalise may have called Val, who’s probably pissed off at Sebastian for being rude to his girlfriend, and that’s not really the conversation Jace wants to stumble in on. Then the door bangs open and Sebastian storms in, grabbing his phone off the bed and answering. “Yes?”  
  
A pause. “Yes, I know she called, she said she called. I said I was sorry.” Another pause. “I said I was sorry, didn’t I?” More silence. Jace could hear a voice buzzing through Sebastian’s earbuds, but no more. He looks annoyed, but his lips are pressed together so tightly they’re almost white. “Okay, I’ll be nicer, or whatever. I know. _I know_.”   
  
A scowl passes over Sebastian’s sharp features, and he begins to pace. “Yeah, you might have mentioned it once or twice,” he says, a bite entering his tone. The scowl deepens, and Sebastian bites his lip, knuckles jamming against his hip. “Fine. Why don’t you come back and tell me yourself?”  
  
He hangs up rather abruptly, throwing the phone back onto the bed. To Jace’s questioning expression, he says, “I apologized and made her happy, and she cried and hugged me a lot. Val is just pissed as always. Is that good?”  
  
“My opinion doesn’t really matter,” Jace says, a bit stiffly.  
  
“Of course it does.” Sebastian still sounds annoyed. “I shouldn’t have dragged you into this stupid lunch in the first place. They’re all “oh sweetie, do you have a girlfriend yet?’ and ‘Are you going to be a lawyer just like your parents?’ All in that sugary fucking voice, while looking at you like you’re horse shit. Good thing they didn’t care enough to ask about you, then it would be, ‘Oh it’s so good to meet someone of _lesser means_ , you’re all so _noble_.’ God help you if you weren’t fucking white.”  
  
Jace props himself up on his elbow. “I didn’t know they were like that.”  
  
Sebastian gestures in vague frustration. “Annalise isn’t. Not really. But most of them are.” He turns Jace’s way, his hair soft and sleek on the comforter. “Have you really never had quinoa?”  
  
“Yeah,” Jace says. “It tastes kind of weird. But it’s supposed to be healthy and shit so—“  
  
“You and your fucking boner for nutrition,” Sebastian grumbles. His expression grows slightly more serious. “I won’t drag you to Camille’s tomorrow if you don’t want to go.”  
  
Jace blinks at the sudden change in topic. “I don’t mind. I’d rather go than be alone in the house with Jocelyn on a Friday night.”  
  
Sebastian grins. “We could see that Ryan Reynolds movie—“  
  
“I’m not paying to go to a theatre to see you make out with a TV screen.”  
  
Sebastian looks wistful. “I wish. Threesome with Idris Elba sounds great.”  
  
Jace rolls his eyes. “Before you do, drive me home. I need to be back before Luke is.”  
  
  
  
  
  
“Jace, that’s pathetic,” Maia says, but she’s laughing. She looks exhausted, and there’s a huge mug of coffee by her laptop, but they’ve been talking for hours and she refuses to cut it short to go to bed. Her purple and gold hoodie, emblazoned with the University at Albany’s logo, looks extremely cozy against the exposed brick of her dorm wall. “Jealous of Idris Elba? He’s like, god. If that’s your competition, just give up.”  
  
“Okay, how realistically is a High School senior going to meet and actually fuck Idris Elba?” Jace argues back. “ _And_ Ryan Reynolds. In a threesome.”  
  
Maia snorts. “At least he dreams big. But that makes it even worse if you’re jealous of something that won’t even happen. Admit it.”  
  
Jace groans. “I know, I know. To be honest, I’m sort of pissed at him. Or, well, I was. He was a complete asshole to his dad’s girlfriend, and I was like, what the fuck? And apparently he was mad about her friends being racist and homophobic or whatever, which, I don’t know, but it was weird.”  
  
“Sounds like a charming family,” Maia says. She picks at the frayed cuff of her purple college hoodie. “You can’t trust families made up of lawyers.”  
  
Jace frowns. “Isn’t your mom a lawyer?”  
  
“Exactly how I know.” Maia takes a large gulp of coffee, which Jace starts to suspect may not just be coffee. “Oh god, Gretel messaged me. Let me open this.”  
  
A tense moment passes; Jace shifts in his seat, anxious on her behalf. If he thought he had problems with Sebastian, Maia had even more with Gretel, who was just as moody and twice as ready to fight anyone and everyone than Sebastian, which was saying something. He and Maia and joked more than once that given this and their shared hair color, they must be related. At this point, Jace wouldn’t be surprised if they were. The tension relaxes from Maia’s face and she laughs, fondly. “She’s drunk-sending me pictures of puppies she wants to adopt.”  
  
“That’s the nicest drunk activity I can think of,” Jace comments.  
  
“Okay, you’ve probably been biased by your inability to drink in moderation,” Maia says, but she sounds sympathetic. “Seriously, haven’t you heard of shot, singular?”  
  
“As if you haven’t done the same thing,” Jace says, defensively, but she’s right. “Is she okay, though? Gretel?”  
  
Maia shakes her head. “I don’t know. I hope so. She’s not talking to anyone, even her ex, who she’s still friends with. I’m worried about her cutting everyone off—that doesn’t usually spell good things for mental health.”  
  
“Can you try to contact her parents?” Jace asks.  
  
“Not without her trying to kill me in the process.” Maia sounds bitter, and Jace wants to ask, but isn’t sure it’s any of his business. “Letting counseling services know is pretty much all I can do, or walk her there. That’s it.”  
  
“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” Jace says, and he means it.  
  
“Thanks. Me too.” Maia groans. “Have I mentioned I have two exams next week? I fucking hate midterms. Please just come and murder me, I literally don’t care how. Send anthrax for all I care. I’m thinking of dropping all this shit and becoming a pathogenic bacteria, or something. It’s the closest to a research lab I’m getting, anyway.”  
  
“You should get some sleep,” Jace prods. “Sleep first, pathogenic bacteria later.”  
  
“You’re right.” Maia groans again. “Ok, I’ll go shower, or whatever. Talk to you tomorrow? I don’t want you becoming one of those stalkers who’s convinced Idris Elba murdered JFK.”  
  
Jace laughs. “I’ll let you know if the urge ever surfaces. Goodnight, then?”  
  
She finishes off her coffee in one large gulp, and waves. “Goodnight, Jace.”  
  
  
  
  
  
“Sebastian, Jace. You made it.” Camille gives them a smile that shows off her sharp teeth and brushes her pointed nails against Raphael’s collar. The two of them are wearing identical, slightly evil smiles, and Jace has to push down the urge to bolt for freedom. They both look Jace over as if he’s a particularly unappealing bit of garbage that’s floated up from a river somewhere, and he grits his teeth and bears it.   
  
Camille detaches herself from Raphel’s shoulder and takes Sebastian’s arm with the seamless grace of someone much older than them. “Is this Marc Jacobs?”  
  
“Alexander McQueen,” Sebastian replies, as if insulted. He surveys the grand opening of the house, which compared to his own looks far less grand and a bit more plebian. Camille’s house looks almost hospitable, and more than once Jace has made fun of Val’s house for looking like a medieval dungeon. Either way, houses this big freak him out. “I don’t suppose you have any wine.”  
  
Raphael gives a soft laugh. “Alcoholic already?”  
  
“Punch the color of blood isn’t really my thing, no matter how much you may have spiked it.” Sebastian gives him a sharp, charming smile. “Unless you actually killed a freshman to make it, in which case I might partake.”  
  
“A snobby alcoholic,” Raphael amends. “And possibly a murderous one.”  
  
Camille laughs as if they’ve both said something very funny, leading Sebastian away and leaving Jace standing rather awkwardly with Raphael, which is less than ideal. He’s wearing an all-black suit, like he was at a funeral. What the hell did rich people do at parties? Wander around smelling wine and eating calorie-free cheese?  
  
“I see you and Sebastian have become rather close,” Raphael says, watching Sebastian’s retreating back with disinterested interest. “I can’t say I would have expected that.”  
  
Close. Jace isn’t sure what Raphael means, and sure as hell isn’t interested in finding out. “Yeah. He likes dragging me places.” Jace desperately scans the room for someone, anyone, he might actually know. Duncan is making out with a girl Jace doesn’t recognize on the couch, and Lily Chen and a friend of hers seem to be enjoying tormenting a freshman boy who looks plainly terrified. Lots of people Jace doesn’t recognize dot the house, some making out, lots of them drinking or moving along to the rather sinister music. He makes a vague noise Raphael’s way and breaks away to follow Sebastian’s light hair through to the dining room, where he and Camille seem to be deep in conversation.   
  
“Oh Jace,” says Camille as he approaches. “We were just talking about you.” She and Sebastian shared a conspiratorial look, which Jace does not like at all. “You and Heidi, to be specific.”  
  
“Heidi?” Jace repeats blankly. He looks to Sebastian, who is taking a delicate sip of red wine.  
  
“Heidi McKenzie,” Camille says, as if he’s an idiot. “Cute junior, with the curls? I’m told on good authority she’d fuck you without a second thought.”  
  
Jace’s eyebrows raise of their own accord, and he instantly regrets approaching either of them. “Well I mean, how could anyone possibly resist.”  
  
Camille laughs and Jace really, really wished she’d let go of Sebastian’s arm.  
  
“What better way to get over that girl from Pandemonium?” Sebastian asks, a bit more sharply than necessary. He gives Jace a bored look that takes him more aback than it should have, as if Jace were part of the scenery. “Maybe I’ll finally be able to hear about something that isn’t her.”  
  
Jace grits his teeth but holds his tongue—he’s not going to do this in front of fucking Camille, of all people. But if Sebastian has a problem with Maia, he can at least say it to Jace’s face, properly. “You know what? That sounds like a great idea.”  
  
Whatever Sebastian’s response is Jace doesn’t hear it, because he’s already turned away towards yet another enormous, leather couch—is that a thing all rich people are required to own?—and grabs a beer out of a nearby cooler. He would have had something nonalcoholic instead but Camille probably isn’t that thoughtful. To Heidi, who is now staring at him like he’s a host of biblical angels appeared to the shepherds of Bethlehem, he says, “You mind?”  
  
“Not at all,” she says, with a smile so bright it almost seems blinding. Her hands are on his shoulder in an instant. “You’re Jace, right?”  
  
She’s wearing a form-fitting dress that show off ample cleavage, and a month ago he would have probably been wondering at his lucky stars that his soccer stardom or generally charming personality have finally paid off. The fact that he nearly has to force himself to look her in her large and slightly weird hazel eyes makes him extremely uncomfortable. Also, the fact that her hand is now slipping down his chest is making him pretty uncomfortable too. He can also smell her breath, and it smells a bit of alcohol. He really, really hates Camille right now.   
  
He glances out of the corner of his eye, and is perversely pleased to see Sebastian’s gaze on him. He doesn’t look exactly happy. Because of that, he persists. With a flourish, he pops off the cap of the beer with his thumb and takes a drink. It tastes like shit, but no one has to know he feels this way.  
  
Heidi says something that sounds like _oh wow_ and grips his arm right about his bicep a little harder than necessary. This isn’t her fault—she’s probably nervous, or overeager, or something. Jace is none of these things. He doesn’t care. He feels a bit sick. He should definitely not be entertaining whatever this is with a fucking junior.  
  
He opens his mouth to say something when Heidi smiles, apparently taking his reticence for something very noble and impassioned. “Let’s go somewhere,” she says, in a slightly sickening whisper. “You’re right. I don’t want all of them watching.”  
  
“Yeah.” Jace’s voice comes out a bit cracked. He jolts to his feet, pulling free of Heidi’s surprisingly strong grip. “I’ll just uh—be back,“ he finishes, jerking a hand sort of aimlessly in an opposite direction, then flees.  
  
She doesn’t come after him immediately—that’s probably good, considering with his boot he probably can’t even outrun a slightly inebriated junior. A very determined, very grabby inebriated junior. He takes the huge, twirling staircase as many steps at a time as he can, starting down an empty hall and checking over his shoulder to make sure he isn’t being followed. He throws open the nearest door and slams it shut behind him, pressing his shoulder against it as if to keep Jack the Ripper out. His heart is pounding, not in fear or the like but in anger, at Camille and Sebastian for putting him in this fucking idiotic situation. He imagines quite bitterly that they’re laughing at his expense. Why had he even agreed to come? He never belonged here—he never would. He feels ridiculous and angry all at once, like a petulant child.  
  
Sinking down to the floor with his back against the door, Jace pulls out his phone and texts Maia.  
  
 _< have I ever mentioned Sebastian is an asshole and I hate him?_  
  
 _> Just once or twice_  
 _> Maybe once a week or more_  
 _> What did he do this time?_  
  
 _< took me to this fucking party_  
 _< I barely know anyone and he’s trying to set me up with this girl_  
 _< Shes nice if you like country-era taylor swift crossed with a tentacle monster_  
  
Jace is too distressed to realize he has inadvertently admitted he knows what country-era Taylor Swift is like. Politely, Maia does not take the opportunity to mock him for it.  
  
 _> What did you do?_  
  
 _< ran and hid in a bedroom and locked the door_  
  
He hasn’t locked the door, on account of there being no lock, but it’s a harmless omission.   
  
_> Oh my god jace seriously_  
 _> do you have a plan or are you just going to hide in there like you’re surrounded by the orcs of Mordor?_  
  
 _< the orcs of what?? maia this is serious_  
  
 _> so are the orcs of mordor_  
 _> ok ok ill focus_  
 _> can you text anyone to pick you up?_  
  
 _< officially im not even here_  
  
 _> ah. great_  
 _> can you hold out the two hours it would take to bus myself to your rescue?_  
  
Jace can’t help but be touched.   
  
_< you’d do that?_  
  
 _> of course_  
 _> your knight on public transit, as it were_  
 _> can’t you just talk to him and tell him you’re not interested??_  
 _> or god forbid, admit your feelings_  
  
 _< yeah no thanks_  
  
Jace pauses over the send button—Maia doesn’t deserve his sarcasm. He deletes it and writes,  
  
 _< I cant_  
  
A knock sounds on the door and Jace jumps.  
  
“Anyone in there?” A girl’s voice says, and for a second he’s afraid it’s Heidi, having somehow found him. But this voice is different. “Yeah? Okay, whatever, let’s get another room.”  
  
Jace sinks back against the door and lets out a quiet breath. His phone vibrates in his hand—Maia’s still messaging him. His chest feels tight as if an elastic band is tied around it; there’s a bookcase in one corner of the room and—his heart leaps—a piano. The music from downstairs is loud enough he doesn’t think he’ll be heard if he plays a little bit. It’s an upright, gleaming black and proud. He knows he’s engaging in behavior Sebastian would ridicule as emo, playing the fucking piano alone at a party, but at the moment he doesn’t give a fuck.  
  
The keyboard isn’t locked and Jace sits down at the bench, the synthetic leather creaking under his legs. It’s a Yamaha U3, the piano he learned on, and thinking back to his childhood lessons brings back a wave of nostalgia, the cinnamon-smelling hand soap his teacher had, the brief period his lessons were at her house so she could watch her own children. With a deep, almost superstitious breath, he put his fingers to the keyboard and plays. He knows he should warm up, especially after not playing for so long, but he plays through _Für Elise_ and _Moonlight Sonata_ , which he is pleased to note he still knows by rote. He plays and he plays, and he’s not sure how much time flows but it doesn’t feel good. Jace blinks against the sting in his eyes, starting into _Nocturne in C sharp Minor—_  
  
“Val always loved that you learned.”  
  
Jace startles, jerking around guiltily. To his dismay, Sebastian is lounging in the doorway, an infuriatingly droll smile on his lips. He has a bottle of red wine in one hand, which spells disaster, even if he doesn’t look that drunk.   
  
“Thanks for the warning.”  
  
“Relax, I won’t mock you.” Sebastian pushes the door further open and steps through, toying idly with a figurine on a mahogany dresser, then shutting the door and strolling closer. Jace notices he still hadn’t taken off his shoes. “Even if you are playing the piano alone at a party like some kind of emo loser—are you crying?”  
  
Jace wipes angrily at the embarrassing, hot tears on his face. “No! Also, I thought you weren’t going to mock me. Or was that an empty promise?”  
  
“Right,” Sebastian says a bit uncertainly, as if not entirely sure how to proceed with that assurance. “Well, if you’re lacking for entertainment, George Lovelace is doing the jell-o shot snarfle out of a trash bin downstairs—“  
  
Jace glares at him. Sebastian gives a put-upon sigh and leans up against the piano. “Look, Camille may be an asshole, but if you just got laid for once maybe you wouldn’t be such a fucking misery all the time. Not,” he adds, to Jace’s continued glare, “that being a fucking misery all the time is a bad thing, or whatever.”  
  
“I would literally rather die than get laid at Camille’s house with a Junior, but thanks for the vote of confidence.”  
  
Sebastian gestures in frustration. “Am I just supposed to ignore that you’re crying on a piano like you’re in an Evanescence music video?”  
  
“I’m trying to have deep sexy brooding time,” Jace snaps back. _“Alone.”_  
  
Sebastian gives him a lobsided smirk that makes Jace’s stomach flip, and took a sip of the wine bottle in his hand. “Well, you know what they say. Sexy brooding is a spectator sport.”  
  
Jace reigned in the urge to bump his forehead against the piano. “Do they really say that?”  
  
“No,” Sebastian admitted, taking another sip of wine and offering the bottle to Jace. Jace shakes his head; Sebastian shoos Jace to the side of the bench and sits down, folding his long legs under the keyboard. Jace takes a reflexive breath and smells his cologne, spicy and underpinned with something like sandalwood. He’s very close; his elbow jostling against Jace’s, their hips touching. It’s unbearably intimate: Jace feels the urge to flee or explore one slender thigh with his fingertips—  
  
“If you aren’t going to say anything, I can assign you your stripper name,” Sebastian says, looking at Jace in the polished reflection of the piano. Jace hates how he looks, but is unable to look away from the black of Sebastian’s eyes reflected in the glossy dark finish of the piano. “There’s a great BuzzFeed quiz. I think I’m Candy Apple Nipples, or something. Oh shit, I forgot I grabbed you one of Cartwright’s edibles. I’m not entirely sure he remembered the uh, active ingredient, but they’re pretty damn good brownies.”  
  
He pulls a paper napkin from his pocket and unwraps it to reveal an admittedly rather moist and lovely-looking brownie, if a bit squished. Jace wrinkles his nose. “Not on the piano.” To Sebastian’s blank expression, he adds, “Crumbs?”  
  
Sebastian rolls his eyes but gets up from the bench, flopping down on the bed as if it were his own. Jace raises his eyebrows but follows suit out of habit. The quilt on the bed is aesthetically pleasing but looks expensive, which rather defeats the point of a quilt. Still, the room isn’t the grand affair he had expected from Camille’s house. More homey.  
  
“Why haven’t you asked her out yet?” Sebastian sounds frustrated. His white hair is splayed over the pillow, fine as silk. “You talk all the time. You like her. I can tell. Why wait? It’s making you miserable, I can tell. You’ve been acting weird since Pandemonium—“  
  
“No I haven’t,” Jace says quickly. Panic rises in his throat, reflexive as acid. “We’re just friends. She likes her friend, anyway. Gretel. She was there that night too—the girl with the grey hair—“  
  
Sebastian knifes through his distracting chatter with a wave of his fingers. “It can’t hurt to tell her how you feel, even if you you’re not sure she’s interested. If it ruins your friendship, at least you were honest.”  
  
Jace squeezes his eyes shut, swallowing over the lump in his throat, pushing down the _urge_ in his chest. “Can we please talk about something else?”  
  
“I don’t know what it is with you,” Sebastian says. He’s staring up at the ceiling, refusing to look Jace’s way. His voice is tight with something akin to anger; with a jolt, Jace realizes he sounds almost choked up. “You won’t even talk about it with me. I get I’m not always the best friend or whatever but it hasn’t been the same and like, are you feeling—“  
  
Jace rolls over and kisses him. It isn’t a very good kiss—in fact, Jace barely found his mouth, on account of the slightly awkward position and the fact that his body feels out of his own control, a puppet cutting its own strings. But it is very much a kiss, and couldn’t be interpreted any other way.  
  
No going back—no apologies could paper over it.  
  
Jace thought of Gatsby, of Nick Carroway, of staring up in the dark at the big house on the hill with its glittering, tempting lights. _And so he knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God..._  
  
Sebastian stiffens, and Jace pulls back. Dimly he can feel his heart speeding, his breathing quick and shallow as if he’d been running, running to or away—  
  
“Jace,” Sebastian says.  
  
 _...so he waited, listening for a moment longer to the tuning fork that had been struck upon a star—_  
  
“Jace,” Sebastian says again, and reaches. Their lips merge and sweetness rushes through him, a sudden rush of clarity, of sensation: heat and light and softness, joy pure and poignant as his relief. Sebastian shifts against him to press their bodies more fully together and a jolt of electric shock runs Jace through. He touches the curve of Sebastian’s spine, feels the shape of his jaw, traces the curve of his neck, drinks in their intermingled breath—  
  
 _“Jace,”_ Sebastian says a third time, and then they’re parted. There’s something dark and wistful on his face, a hesitance that bleeds the warmth from Jace’s rushing blood and pounding heart. He seems to struggle for words, then says, “Are you fucking serious?”  
  
Jace wants, but the wild urge is tamed, stayed by the satisfaction humming in his veins. “Yeah.”  
  
 _and at his lips' touch she blossomed for him like a flower and the incarnation was complete._

"Like, _really_ fucking serious _—_?"  
  
The door bangs open and Sebastian’s forehead connects with Jace’s nose. Pain jolts through him, panic hot on its heels. Camille is standing in the doorway, looking genuinely shocked. Then smug satisfaction slithers over her face, and she smiles. “You two. I can’t say I expected that.” The red smile widens. “Mostly because you’re step-brothers. Sebastian, I know you always loved to cause a buzz, but this is taking it rather too far, isn’t it?”  
  
Jace feels himself flush. His fingertips are numb; the events of the past few minutes feel unreal, as if taking place in a dream.  
  
“The kind of buzz if I told Santiago’s _very_ Catholic parents what really happened between you during your ‘study breaks’ at Val’s Christmas party?” Sebastian asks. There’s something borderline feral in his sweet smile, and Jace feels a rush of strange, dizzying emotion. He feels protected—he feels safe. There’s an incredible lightness in him, and he laughs—can’t help it. Camille and Sebastian look at him, and he feels more laughter bubble up.  
  
“Fuck off,” he says, to Camille.  
  
She looks between them and rolls her eyes. “Fine. But don’t get anything on my sister’s bed, that’s fucking disgusting.”  
  
The door shuts behind her with a click like the click of her heels. Slowly, Sebastian turns back to him, a strange hesitance in his eyes. With an enormous lurch in his stomach, Jace identifies it as something akin to shyness. “Jace—I thought—“   
  
He breaks off and brushes his lips against Jace’s. It sends a shiver through Jace’s entire body, the ghost of sensation, and Jace chases it with his lips. Sebastian pulls back with a playful smile. “When was the last time you kissed someone? 2003?”  
  
Jace lets out an exasperated laugh, tension flowing out of his body, just a little. “That good, huh?”  
  
“I think—“ Sebastian dips inwards and nips at Jace’s bottom lip, “I could be persuaded to give you a refresher.”  
  
Jace’s phone rings and Sebastian lets out a little whine of frustration as Jace unwillingly pulls it out of his pocket to check it. “It could be an emergency,” he says, almost apologetically, and to his surprise Sebastian doesn’t fight back, just watches him as if amazed by his very existence.  
  
It’s Clary; Jace picks up instantly.   
  
_“Jace, thank god you picked up,”_ Clary’s voice says in a rush. _“We’re—Izzy and I—at some party and this guy is being a complete dick—not to us but we’re—I want to go home but Mom’ll kill us for being here and Luke didn’t pick up—Jace I’m so sorry, I feel so stupid—“_  
  
“It’s fine,” Jace says quickly. He forces himself to stay calm. “I’m glad you called. Where are you?”  
  
 _“We locked ourselves and this drunk girl in the bathroom,”_ Clary says, and Jace’s heart clenches at the anxiety in her voice. _“I don’t know the address—Izzy knows, I’ll give her the phone—“_  
  
Sebastian has sat up, as if half-absorbing the conversation. He still looks a bit dazed, hair askew and a few too many buttons of his shirt undone. A few seconds of shuffling over the speakers and then Izzy gives him the address. Jace has nothing to write it down on so he puts it into maps immediately.  
  
“Okay, we’re heading over now,” he says, sending a significant look Sebastian’s way. He doesn’t complain, just follows Jace off the bed and down the stairs. In the living room, the music is almost unbearably loud, but he shoves the phone against his ear and focuses on the door through the smell of beer and wine. “You guys stay on the line until we get there, okay?”  
  
 _“Okay,”_ Izzy says. _“But if we start a brawl before you get here, don’t tell Clary’s mom.”_  
  
“Brawls—?” Jace repeats, and he notices Sebastian’s interest pique out of the corner of his eye. “No brawls, either of you. Jocelyn will fucking kill us all.”  
  
  
  
  
  
The car ride is almost silent, save for Clary apologizing in hushed tones over the speaker phone and Jace occasionally swearing at nearly five traffic violations by Sebastian. Jace doesn’t get the impression he’s fully processed things—Jace is quite sure he himself hasn’t. They arrive at the right address—assuming Jace put it into Sebastian’s google maps right— and even from the car he can hear the heavy pounding of some awful bass-heavy music. No wonder he can barely hear Clary’s voice over the line.  
  
“We’re outside,” Jace says, pushing open the door and shutting it behind him, all but running up to the front door. It’s pitch black outside and just a bit too cold to be outside without a jacket, which adds to his mounting anticipation. Wrenching back the glass screen door, he tries the door handle. The door is ornate, heavy, and unlocked.  
  
“Jace,“ Sebastian begins. “I think this might be—“  
  
Jace opens the door and is immediately blasted by the smell of sweat and beer, as well as the most painfully awful club music he’s ever heard. It’s impossibly loud, pounding in his skull and in his bones, setting his teeth on edge. He pulls near the coat rack, urgently scanning the unfamiliar faces for any sign of Clary or Izzy, a snatch of red or black hair. Solo cups litter every available surface and quite a few people are lying on the couch or against tables making out or just talking. He can’t be distracted now—Clary, usually so stubborn and self-reliant, had sounded scared.  
  
A very drunken voice booms, “Hey you! Wayland! What the fuck are you doing here?”  
  
“—Quinn’s house,” Sebastian finishes darkly, close enough to be heard. His voice grounds Jace against the distracting tide of worry. “The bathroom is down the hall to the left. That’s where they said they were.”  
  
Before Jace can think to act on this inexplicable information, Quinn himself appears a few seconds later, pushing through the crowd of soccer and football players like a very buff and drunk Moses parting the Red Sea. He’s holding a Solo cup in one hand and reeks of beer and something stronger; Jace is pretty sure he also smells weed. There’s some kind of shifting colored lamp in the living room and it’s throwing a reddish light over the room and the people inside. He recognizes a lot of girls and guys from the varsity teams, but none of them that he really likes, like Raj or Lydia.  
  
“I’m here to pick up my sister,” Jace says, nearly shouting to be heard over the throbbing sound. He tries to sound firm, but the way his heart is pounding in his chest he feels anything but. Also, Quinn is a lot taller than him, which he’d just noticed, and quite a bit wider. He’s suddenly very aware the last time the three of them interacted, it ended in a fistfight. “As soon as I find her I’ll leave.”  
  
Quinn snorts, rearing back with the swaggering imbalance of a drunk. “And here I thought _Sebastian_ ran out of dicks to suck.”  
  
Sebastian lunges but Jace grabs him by the arms and hauls him back. They are _not_ starting a fight, not when his sister and her friend are in trouble, and definitely not when they’re outnumbered twenty to two. Sebastian shakes him off with a grimace but doesn’t fight back when Jace shoves him back towards the door. “I just need to take my sister and her friends home.” Jace repeats, putting more heat into his tone. In his free hand that isn’t holding Sebastian’s shoulder to keep him from doing anything stupid, he texts Clary’s number,  
  
 _< here now_  
  
“I don’t give a fuck what you and your fucking boyfriend want, I said get _out_ of my fucking house. Baby sister can call a fucking Uber.” Quinn’s looking pissed off now, and Jace is pissed off too, and he has a ridiculous thought of _damn I shouldn’t have drank that beer_ because he shoves his shoulder into Quinn’s chest, sending him stumbling.   
  
“I’m not leaving until Clary’s here,” Jace snaps.  
  
Anger flashes on Quinn’s face, fast and bright. He jerks his hand and Jace flinches back too late to avoid a cup full of beer to the face. He splutters, blinking rapidly, feeling a searing flash of anger as waves of drunken laughter fill the room. “Asshole thinks he owns the place,” Quinn says, loudly enough that people a few houses away can probably hear. He’s grinning, as if he’s said something very clever, and it makes Jace’s blood boil. “Mommy and daddy probably can’t even afford his fucking uniform and he walks around telling us what to do. Fucking unbelievable. Get out, you fucking losers, before I—”  
  
Jace doesn’t even get the opportunity to hear exactly what he’ll do because Sebastian beats him to it, shoving past Jace and hurling himself Quinn’s way. Quinn reacts with surprising alacrity, grabbing at his shoulders and pulling him off, but Sebastian tucks his head down and braces his narrow shoulders and rams the top of his skull into Quinn’s nose. Blood splurts from Quinn’s nose and he swears, clutching at it.  
  
 _< CLARY NOW_  
  
The room erupts into chaos and one of the football guys—Jace has seen him hanging around Quinn and vaguely recalls his name to be Cartwright, or something—grabs Sebastian by the arms and pins them to his chest. Sebastian snarls and tries to wrench free but the other guy is a lot bigger and definitely a lot stronger. Jace lurches forward to shove Quinn again, harder this time, but catches a flash of red hair and a pale, taut-looking face— _Clary_.    
  
He forgets everything else and lunges forward, years of offensive training allowing him to slip through outstretched arms and charging bodies. “Clary!” he calls and she turns, an unconscious girl Jace doesn’t recognize heavy in her arms and Izzy at her side.  
  
“Jace, watch out!” she calls, seconds before Izzy heaves a rather heavy-looking lamp over her head and brings the base crashing down on Cartwright’s shoulder. He shouts, and a few people shout or whistle, and Izzy raises the lamp threateningly, and he seems to reconsider the wisdom of attacking her with a weapon and lowers his raised fist. Quinn, however, is raging mad, his whole face bright red; a vein seems to pop in his neck. Jace can definitely see why an opposing team wouldn’t want him barreling down the field at them—he’s more like a linebacker than a soccer player, which is why he’s on defense.  
  
Jace’s mind snaps back into reality and he lurches forward but is caught by Cartwright. Quinn takes a powerful swing and though Sebastian manages to flinch away Quinn’s fist still catches him on the jaw and sends him tumbling into a glass coffee table. His head connects with the surface and Jace’s breath catches in his chest, panic shooting through his veins. The music is pounding in Jace’s skull like his heartbeat; he feels wild, disoriented, disconnected from reality.  
  
Sebastian stirs and Jace manages to rip free of Cartwright’s grip. Quinn looks ready to kick Sebastian while he’s down; Sebastian looks a bit dazed but is already struggling to his feet. People are shouting—both at him and Quinn, telling them to stop, egging them on. Jace grabs at his arm and yanks him off balance but is quickly jerked back by Cartwright. Quinn draws back again to kick Sebastian—  
  
“Hey, asshole!” Izzy shouts, then swings the lamp’s cord viciously Quinn’s way. To Jace’s complete shock, the plug whips over the back of Quinn’s neck—painfully, he has to imagine. Quinn shouts, both in pain and surprise, and Jace manages to wrestle himself free and dart forward to haul Sebastian to his feet. There’s blood in his hair but nothing serious; he tries to struggle out of Jace’s grip but Jace holds on tight, yanking him back towards the door—  
  
“Come any nearer my brother and I’ll fucking stab you,” Clary’s voice says and Jace looks up to see her brandishing one of her art pencils Cartwright’s way, the half-conscious girl still lolling on her shoulder. It was no joke—the barrel of the pencil was aluminum, and wicked sharp at the tip. Izzy was beside her, hauling the passed-out girl’s arm over her shoulder and still brandishing the lamp and yelling at anyone who came near, and it was all such perfect chaos and for a split second Jace was profoundly grateful that Clary was his sister.  
  
He yanks Sebastian—still struggling and snarling like some kind of feral animal—towards the door. Izzy pushes it open with her hip and he hauls Sebastian through onto the lawn and towards the car. For someone his size he’s shockingly strong, or at least extremely determined, and nearly tears from Jace’s grip more than once. Izzy and Clary are hot on his heels, Clary half-dragging the drunk girl and Izzy still gripping the lamp as if its a sword.  
  
“We’ll fucking kill you!” someone yelled, much too slurred for the threat to be credible.  
  
“And I’ll call the fucking cops, asshole!” Izzy shouts back, brandishing her phone in her lamp-free hand and adding a few colorful epithets in Spanish. Jace manages to wrench open the car door and shoves Sebastian bodily into the back seat, slamming the door shut.  
  
“Fucking hell,” he said, as Sebastian shouts something incomprehensible and pounds on the window with a fist. “You guys alright? Anyone hurt?”  
  
“I’m fine,” Clary says, but now that there’s no one for her to stab her lower lip is trembling and her eyes are filling with tears. “Jace, I’m so sorry, I’m—“  
  
“It’s okay,” he says, pulling her in for a quick hug. “Izzy, you okay?”  
  
“I’m great!” she shouts, her knuckles white on her grip on the lamp. Her dark eyes are very wide and wild and for a moment she reminds him a bit of Sebastian, still attempting to unlock his own car door and failing. “Come out here and try me, assholes, I’ll call the fucking police if I have to—we have a crying white girl, they’ll haul your asses to jail in a second, fucking pieces of _shit_ —”  
  
“Okay uh, that’s enough,” Jace says, throwing a wary look towards the door. A few people have spilled out onto the lawn, but mostly to vomit; Quinn looms in the doorway, still-furious, but he’s holding his neck and doesn’t look too keen to try either Izzy or Sebastian any time soon. Jace can’t exactly blame him. “Clary, get the girl into the front seat, we’ll deal with her later. Izzy, stop yelling, you’ll make the neighbors shoot us with a shotgun or something. I’ll calm Sebastian down so we can get the hell out of here.”  
  
He turns back to the car, where Sebastian has ceased trying to do battle with the car door and is now sulking and scowling up at him like a violent, angry child. Jace opens the door with some trepidation and sticks his head inside. “You want to tell me what that was all about?”  
  
“Quinn’s a fucking asshole,” says Sebastian, but there’s a pout to his voice that suggests his tantrum is over. “Someone needs to knock the shit out of him.”  
  
“I think he would have done a pretty good job of knocking the shit out of you if Izzy hadn’t saved your ass,” Jace says. “Speaking of, you need to get to a doctor, you could have a concussion.”  
  
“I know first aid, I did it for my lifeguard course. I’ll make sure he’s not fucking dying.” Izzy pushes him aside and climbs into the car; Sebastian eyes her with deep suspicion. She shoves the lamp into his arms and starts examining the blood in his pale hair, muttering something in Spanish Jace can’t quite make out. He’s pretty sure he makes out “idiot” and “dickhead.”  
  
Clary’s at the front of the car, tucking the seatbelt around the girl’s lap and looking at her phone. She’s young, maybe a freshman or a sophomore, with sandy hair and a dress that’s a bit too big. Jace is glad Clary had the gumption to drag her into the bathroom with them, but he has no idea how they’re going to get her home.  
  
“You okay?” he asks, more softly.  
  
“I’m okay, I think,” Clary replies, with a small, if worried smile. “Thanks for coming to get us. I know you guys were doing something.”  
  
‘Doing something’ is an understatement, but Jace keeps this particular sentiment to himself. “Don’t worry about it,” Jace says, rounding the front of the car and keeping an eye on the house. “You get in with Izzy and answer if anyone calls her phone. I’m going to drive us somewhere else so we don’t have to worry about Quinn and his friends.”  
  
He gets into the driver’s seat, trying to feel more confident than he is. Jocelyn taught him how to drive, of course, and he has a license, but it’s been a while and he doesn’t even know how Sebastian’s fancy-ass car works. He presses the ignition button and jerks back in surprise when the engine hums to life.  
  
“It’s an RFID,” Clary explains, to his confusion. “On the key fob. It wouldn’t have worked otherwise.”  
  
“Great,” he says, with false brightness. “Well, hopefully the RF-whatever knows how to drive a passed-out girl home, because I don’t.”  
  
Clary looks sympathetic, but doesn’t offer any suggestions.  
  
  
  
  
  
The girl’s mother calls and after a few seconds of confused and angry shouting realizes that Clary is not, in fact, her daughter, and after a few more minutes of panicked back and forth seems to be convinced that her daughter is safe. Her mother gives Clary the address and Jace puts it into Sebastian’s phone and Sebastian, for his part, is still sulking in silence.  
  
“I can’t fucking tell what size your pupils are, your eyes are black,” Izzy complains. “Honestly, between this and being an overall jackass, you’re the worst patient ever.”  
  
Sebastian gives her a baleful look but doesn’t unknot his arms from over his chest until long after they deliver the girl home and are heading for Maryse’s house. Izzy has declared Sebastian fit to go home, but tells him he should get checked out anyway. He grumbles something and keeps sulking, holding the lamp to his chest like a trophy.  
  
Izzy gives Clary a peck on the cheek as she clambers out of the car and Clary flushes a deep crimson and gives her a shy smile in return. They wait until Izzy’s inside and the door shut behind her, then Jace starts back home, trying not to think of the time.  
  
“So, you and Izzy, huh?” he asks, catching her eye in the rearview mirror.  
  
Clary gives a pursed little smile and looks down at her lap. “I think so,” she says, and he feels a rush of affection. He’s gotten used to the car, somewhat, though he’s pretty sure that Sebastian isn’t pleased at being relegated to his own backseat. “I mean, beating up sports boys together always builds camaraderie. No offense,” she adds quickly, remembering Jace is, in fact, a sports boy. “Just—“ she gestures to the lamp, as if it holds all the secrets and mysteries of her sexual awakening.   
  
Sebastian, perturbed, hastily puts it down on the seat between them. He’s bedraggled and helpless without even his phone to distract him; Clary picks up the lamp and cradles it in her lap. “I mean, that was hot, Jace. Come on.”  
  
He laughs. “Fair enough. That was pretty impressive lamp-fu.” He pulls over a few houses down from Jocelyn and Luke’s, putting the car into park. “You okay to drive home?” he asks.  
  
Sebastian shrugs. “I’ll be fine,” he says. “Text me tomorrow.”  
  
It seems rather abrupt for all that happened, but he supposes he’d rather not hash all that out with Clary in the car. Also, the sooner Sebastian gets home to take some Advil, the happier he’ll probably be.  
  
“Okay,” Jace says, tasting the inadequacy of his words. He opens the door and he and Clary climb out of the car, Sebastian opening his own door to take the driver’s seat. His eyes meet Jace’s but he looks away quickly and slams the door shut.  
  
Jace and Clary start down the sidewalk, Jace trying not to shiver in the night air. The lights are out in the windows—it must be late. He’s too afraid to check his phone, he hopes Luke and Jocelyn are already asleep. They start up the driveway to see Jocelyn sitting on the front porch and exchange horrified looks. She’s wrapped in a blanket—now that they’re closer, Jace can see she’s leaning on Luke’s shoulder, half asleep.  
  
“Mom,” Clary calls out, and her voice wobbles. “Mom, what are you doing up?”  
  
Jocelyn stirs and Jace’s gut clenches instinctively. This is _not_ going to be a good conversation, he knows it.  
  
“There you are,” she breathes. In an instant she’s thrown off her blanket and has her arms around them—both of them. “What on earth were you thinking? Where were you? Jace—is that blood—?”  
  
“I’m sorry mom,” Clary says, and Jace can tell she’s moments away from tears. “Izzy and I were at a party and—things, things got out of hand and some guys were harassing this freshman and—we were really scared so we locked ourselves in the bathroom and—Jace and—and his friend came to get us and there was a fight—“  
  
“A _what?_ ” Jocelyn says. “Clary, what were you thinking? Anything could have happened I—I can’t believe you’d be so irresponsible. And a fight? Was anyone hurt?”  
  
“No,” says Jace. “Everyone’s fine.”  
  
Luke’s eyes shift his way and Jace knows he instantly detects the lie, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead he stands up and places a hand on Jocelyn’s shoulder. “Let’s go inside,” he says gently. “It’s late.”  
  
“You’re—you’re right.” Jocelyn ushers them towards the door, still looking distressed. “Clary, I hope you don’t have to tell you you’re grounded. Jace—well, we can talk when we get inside.”  
  
Jace grits his teeth but keeps a straight face with effort. He’s too tired to care, he just wants to go to sleep and try to process everything later. Jocelyn chews Clary out, and Clary cries, and then Jocelyn cries too, and Luke and Jace stand there and watch, exchanging slightly awkward looks. Jocelyn bundles Clary off to bed with a few parting reprovals, then sits down on the couch in silence for a few moments as if deflated by all the activity.  
  
“Jace,” she says, and Jace’s heart skips a beat. “Sit down.”  
  
Obediently he rounds the couch and sits, not quite facing her. He meets her eyes—he hasn’t done anything wrong that she knows about.  
  
“Luke and I talked,” she says, and she sounds hesitant but her voice lacks it’s usual sharpness. “He...well, he said I’ve been too hard on you lately, what with your injury and new schools and, well, he’s completely right. And what you did tonight proves that you’re more responsible than I think, and— you’re an adult now, legally, and grounding you is, well, it’s silly. So I’m sorry, Jace. Things have been stressful for us all lately, and I’ve taken that out on you, and that was wrong.”  
  
She reaches out, almost hesitantly, and touches his hand, lightly. “We may not always see eye-to-eye, but I love you, Jace. I only want you to be safe. And sometimes—sometimes I go too far. And I’m sorry for that too.”  
  
Jace swallows and is surprised to feel hot tears skid down his cheeks. He wipes at them hastily, and Luke puts a hand on his shoulder, and god does he feel guilty. “Uh, thanks,” he says, and his voice is rough; he can only imagine he looks even worse. “I’m...I’m sorry for being rude, I should...I should remember all you and Luke do to keep us together.”  
  
Jocelyn looks down, and with another rush of guilt he realizes he’s upset her. “You deserve to have a happy childhood,” she says. “You both do.”  
  
“It’s okay,” Jace tells her. “Really. Clary’s—Clary’s okay. She and Izzy just beat up a linebacker. Like, seriously.”  
  
Jocelyn smiles, though she still looks on the verge of tears. He can see the words on the tip of her tongue, _are you okay, too?_ but sees her think twice, respect the omission.  
  
“You should get some rest,” Luke says, and his voice is gentle—so gentle, like all the rest of him. “Both of you.”  
  
Jace nods, standing up. He and Jocelyn seem to avoid each other’s eyes—having that kind of heart-to-heart isn’t like either of them, and it shows. He ducks in quickly to Clary’s door and gives a soft knock.   
  
“Come in,” she says, but her voice sounds small.  
  
He pushes open the door slowly. She’s sitting on her bed, Izzy’ weaponized lamp in front of her. Jace crossed the room carefully and sat opposite her, admiring the heavy wrought base of the lamp and the delicate lampshade. “I can’t believe you replaced Izzy with a sexy lamp,” he says, and Clary snorts, swatting at him.  
  
“I didn’t _replace_ her,” she says, but she’s smiling. The smile fades, quickly as it came. She looks very tired—tired as he feels. “I hope you and Jocelyn didn’t fight.”  
  
“No,” says Jace, quickly. “It was okay—better than okay, actually.”  
  
“I love you, Jace,” Clary says, and she only looks vaguely embarrassed when she says it. “Thanks for coming to get us.”  
  
“I love you too,” Jace says, and he means it. He kisses the top of her head, like she’s still ten. “Get some rest. The sexy lamp can wait.”  
  
  
  
  
  
Once he’s back in his room, Jace checks his phone and instantly feels guilty. He’d completely forgotten about Maia in the turmoil of the evening. He opens up the messenger app and fires off a quick text.  
  
 _< don’t worry im fine_  
 _< thank you for everything_  
 _< ill talk to you in the morning_  
  
Then he lays down on his bed and passes out almost instantly.  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: brief homophobic language, extremely vague threat of sexual assault (two girls are in a party situation they're not comfortable with and ask to be picked up, a third character is passed out drunk), very brief violence (a lot lot less than in canon), Sebastian being mean to Annalise (a theme, idk why I even point it out every chapter), and a bit more internalized homophobia and ~Angst~. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, just wanted to say thank you for the sweet comments y'all left last chapter--it means a lot to me, and definitely got me back writing when I thought this fic was on its deathbed. This chapter is quite sweet and also the halfway point, so the tension definitely ramps up from here. Please note the revamped tags!

“Let me get this straight,” Maia says. She’s a bit grainy over the video, but the disbelief in her voice is obvious. “You were pissed off at Sebastian for trying to set you  up with Tentacle Swift—“  
  
Jace winces. “Okay, she’s not that bad. I shouldn’t have called her that.”  
  
“—no, no, I like it. Anyway he tried to set you up with Tentacle Swift, and you were pissed off, and you got back at him by confessing your feelings and making out with him? At someone’s house party. And then went and got in a fistfight at someone else’s house party. Is there anything I’m missing? An alien abduction, maybe?”  
  
“No alien abductions,” Jace says. “Also there was a lot less confessing than....” He trails off. He can tell in the preview window of his own video that he looks extremely guilty.  
  
Maia puts her forehead in her palm and laughs. “Oh my god. You’re actually worse than Gretel sometimes, and she tried to make macaroni and cheese in a coffee maker and drunk-texts her exes.” Her expression straightens out, as if seeing his face. “You don’t look as joyous as someone who’s finally expressed their ridiculously repressed feelings should be.”  
  
“It feels weird,” says Jace, picking his words carefully. “It feels wrong. I...I don’t know why, I just...don’t want to face him now.”  
  
Maia looks sympathetic. “Is it because of your mom?”  
  
Jace shakes his head. “I don’t know. She’s...she apologized for some stuff and I sort of...realize I’m not fair to her. Like she works two jobs on top of her painting just to pay the bills and—I’m hiding too much from them.”  
  
Maia’s quiet a moment, as if thinking or giving him room to add more. “Does he make you happy?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Jace says, a bit helplessly. “It’s been less than 24 hours. I haven’t even seen him. He’s probably still sleeping off the bottle of wine he drank last night.”  
  
Maia snorts, then quickly schools her expression into something more fitting for Jace’s existential crisis. “Well, find that out first. Then make your decision from there.”  
  
  
  
  
 _> jace_  
 _> jace r u there_  
 _> jace I don’t care if ur masturbating answer right now_  
 _> jace for fucks sake_  
 _> j a c e_  
  
Jace sighs and unlocks his phone.   
  
_< im here jesus_  
 _< I was at the doctors office_  
  
 _> fuck ok there u are_  
 _> we need to talk_  
 _> now_  
 _> were u masturbating though?_  
  
Jace looks anxiously to Luke, who’s humming along to 80’s tunes. It had been a long day of waits in the doctor’s office, x-rays, and transferring between departments like a group of bar-hopping college students, and he feels exhausted.  
  
 _< at the fucking doctor’s office? what kind of weird-ass porn do you watch???_  
 _< anyway no im in the fucking car_  
 _< don’t ask me if I was masturbating in the car I will block your number_  
  
 _> okok whatever_  
 _> so u can’t talk?_  
  
 _< not unless you need a response better than mm hmm_  
  
 _> well call as soon as you get back_  
 _> also annalise wants to know if you can come to yoga with us_  
 _> fucking bitch wont leave me alone oh my god_  
  
 _< when is it?_  
  
 _> Monday afternoon_  
 _> she loves u now_  
 _> that porny pool boy job is looking more likely_  
 _> r u home yet???_  
  
 _< oh my god its been less than a minute_  
 _< ill call you I promise we’re almost there_  
  
Jace hesitates a moment, then adds,  
  
 _< is this about what happened at camille’s?_  
 _< but uh yeah I can come to yoga lmao_  
 _< though I still have an ankle brace and don’t know shit about yoga_  
  
 _> no, its about changing my grindr profile pic_  
 _> of course its about what happened at camille’s dipshit_  
 _>   and its fine annalise will think youre adorable_  
  
He seems to get distracted by something, and Jace checks out of the corner of his eye that Luke isn’t watching him. He isn’t. He’s doing a little dance in the driver’s seat, singing along to the BeeGee’s.  “It’s the BeeGees,” Luke explains. “You have to dance to the BeeGees.”  
  
Jace raises his eyebrows. “You sure about that?”  
  
“I’m sure, Jace. I’m sure.” He pushes a button and Jace’s window starts scrolling down. “C’mon, the news from the doctor was good, there’s a nice breeze, the BeeGees are on the radio—“  
  
“Only two of those things are a plus,” says Jace, but he’s smiling. The breeze tickles his face, the sun warming his skin. Cautious optimism swells in his chest, and he raises his phone to take a brief video of Luke’s dancing to send to Maia. Luke catches him recording and raises a hand to mime a microphone.  
  
“Distracted driving kills,” Luke adds, very seriously, and Jace has to laugh.  
  
Maia responds,  
  
 _> Please tell your dad hes the worst_  
  
 _< already done lmao_  
  
By the time Luke pulls up into the driveway he’s turned off the radio and is singing some other of his favorites very poorly but with almost contagious enthusiasm. Clary is in the front yard, raking up leaves and not looking very thrilled about it. Luke kisses the top of her head and goes to open the door. Jocelyn is in the kitchen, scrubbing down the countertops. She greets them both and Jace slips away to his room as Luke kisses her hello, already pulling out his phone and shutting the door behind him. He selects Sebastian’s contact, throwing his backpack onto the floor and laying down on his bed as the FaceTime ringtone rings.  
  
“Jace?”  
  
“Hey,” Jace says.   
  
“Fuck, okay one moment. I’m talking to Jace,” he calls, as if to Annalise. “One sec, let me turn on video.” His face appears a moment later, and Jace notices he looks exhausted, as if he hasn’t slept. “Alright, I’m alone. You?”  
  
“No, I’m actually having this conversation with Jocelyn on the line. What do you think?”  
  
“I’m just asking,” Sebastian says, unaffected. “Okay, you going to tell me what the hell that was all about?”  
  
Jace blinks, momentarily thrown. “What?”  
  
“Are you having some kind of exploratory phase? Bicuriosity? Wanted to piss off your mom? I don’t really give a shit if that’s what it is but Camille won’t let me hear the end of it if I catch feelings for another straight fuckboy. No offense,” he adds, rather lamely.  
  
“I didn’t know you had feelings,” Jace says wryly.  
  
“Horniness counts as a feeling,” Sebastian replies shortly. “So which is it?”  
  
Jace tries desperately to catch words from the thoughts fleeting through his head and mostly fails. “I—uh, I wasn’t curious, I—“  
  
“It’s fine, Jace, no need to strain your double-digit vocabulary.” Sebastian looks annoyed and angry, as if attempting to pretend the conversation is boring him and not quite succeeding. “I won’t tell your mother, and I’ll post pictures of Camille’s braces on her timeline if she tries anything.”  
  
“I wasn’t curious because I’ve already kissed you,” Jace hisses, very much aware his room shares a very thin wall with the kitchen but also pissed off at Sebastian for steamrolling his attempts at confession. “At Pandemonium. You don’t remember because you got drunk off your fucking ass, but we did, and I didn’t tell you because I was too scared and didn’t want it to mean anything. But it did. Maia’s the only one I can talk to about it, because I sure as hell can’t let Jocelyn know. So if it doesn’t mean anything to you that’s fine, and yeah I don’t know how to feel about it yet, but don’t sit there and tell me I’m shallow and using you for some cheap thrill because I’m not.”  
  
Sebastian blinks, the anger sliding off his face to leave something cooler and more surprised in its wake. “We did?”  
  
“We did,” Jace admits. Now that he’s started, the words tumble out of him like marbles. “I know I should have told you, but like I said I was scared and I had no idea how you’d take it and you were in the hospital—“  
  
“Jace. It’s fine.” Sebastian’s face takes on a very peculiar expression. “So does that you mean you like me?”  
  
Jace swallows, reflexively biting at the chapped skin of his bottom lip. “Yeah,” he says, and his voice is barely above a whisper. “I think I could be persuaded to.”  
  
“Wow,” Sebastian says, a bit stupidly. “Well, I guess I can add that to my resume. ‘ _Turned my ex-stepbrother gay._ ’”  
  
“What resume could you possibly put that on?” Jace asks, unable to resist the digression.  
  
“My hoeing resume, obviously,” Sebastian says, as if this should be obvious. “So can I start sending you nudes now? Without you freaking out.”  
  
Jace glares. “I thought you said that was an accident.”  
  
Sebastian gives a shrug. “I am expensive, and I contain multitudes.”  
  
“It’s I am _expansive_ ,” Jace says, a bit pedantically. He hesitates a moment, then adds, “And you can send me shit as long as you do it over snapchat and don’t do it in class.”  
  
Sebastian smirks. “As you wish.”  
  
“Don’t quote _Princess Bride_ at me.” Jace shakes his head. “Okay, I need to do homework, or Starkweather will murder me for slacking off in readings again. Talk to you tomorrow, okay?”  
  
“If you have to,” Sebastian sighs. “And remember to bring exercise shit tomorrow, because there’s no way you’re fitting any of my clothes.”  
  
Jace grins. “O ye of little faith.”  
  
“Goodnight, Jace,” Sebastian says, then hesitates and gives him a strange, almost shy smile before hanging up.  
  
Jace manages to do some of his reading after that, and Gatsby’s green light, his bright, orgiastic future seems ever so real.  
  
  
  
  
Jace attends practice the next morning. He’s well enough to do some laps, and he’s so out of shape if he doesn’t start trying now he’ll never catch up. But he’s obscenely cheerful for some reason, so cheerful he even returns Raj’s excited high-five and compliments Duncan’s new haircut, which looks virtually identical to the old one. Lydia looks genuinely pleased to see him, and Aldertree claps him on the shoulder and calls him ‘champ’ so many times Jace is reminded fondly of Luke. His ankle throbs a bit so he takes it easy but keeps going, working up a pleasant sweat and just enough of an endorphin rush that he feels alive again. Even Sebastian seems mildly shocked by his change in disposition, and tells him to stay very far away from him until he’s had a shower.  
  
The day seems to fly by; he daydreams through chemistry and texts Maia about Gretel’s plan to sneak alcohol into a movie theatre through Pre-Cal. He surprises Mr. Starkweather by defending Daisy Buchannan and claiming that she’s written purely as a status symbol for men to squabble over (admittedly, this critique came partially from Gretel, who took an intro literature course as an elective and had a lot of opinions).   
  
At lunch period he meets Sebastian by his locker and they head for McDonalds. As soon as they’re in the car, Sebastian pulls out his phone and takes a picture of him. Before Jace can ask, or even demand he take one slightly more flattering, Sebastian explains breathlessly, “I’m going to take a picture of you every day. Every single day. Do you want fries?”  
  
“Uh, sure,” says Jace, not entirely sure how those two thoughts are related, and trying not to feel self-conscious.   
  
They get Big Macs and manage to return before history starts. Jace dodges Duncan’s accusatory glare as he eats his burger—Sebastian has made him a bigger fan of junk food than he should be. Camille tries to catch his eye all lesson, but Jace ignores her and pretends to be paying attention and taking notes. Sebastian is on Instagram, swiping mindlessly through his feed and occasionally stopping to like something.  
  
Then they’re free. They stop by Sebastian’s favorite smoothie place and get ludicrously overpriced smoothies, which Jace has to admit taste quite good, before heading to meet Annalise at whatever yoga place she and Sebastian take lessons at. Sebastian insists on trying some of Jace’s berry smoothie, and offers Jace some of his own peach flavored one.   
  
“I’m really not going to be good at this,” Jace tells Sebastian as they enter the changing room, a lush space decked out in bamboo, of all things. “I’ve never done this yoga shit before.”  
  
“Don’t worry,” Sebastian says, already locking himself in one of the stalls. “As long as you admire my incredible flexibility and tell Annalise her Wheel pose isn’t an eyesore, you should be fine.”  
  
“Great,” mutters Jace. He emerges to find Sebastian wearing the tightest, most form-fitting leggings and exercise shirt he’s ever seen on a dude, and his eyes widen considerably. How he even found an UnderArmor shirt in that size is beyond him, unless it was in the kids’ section.  
  
“They’re Lululemon,” Sebastian says, as if Jace has found the words to ask. He’s barefoot, and somehow this combined with every single line of his body being on display makes Jace’s face heat. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”  
  
Jace follows him through the lobby into a large, many-windowed room where dozens of identically-dressed women and men are doing a lot of...yoga poses. Jace sees Annalise and she waves them over, indicating two empty mats next to her.  
  
“Oh sweetie, you made it,” Annalise says, to either or both of them. “Jace, honey, don’t strain yourself your first time, whatever you feel comfortable with is just fine.” Sebastian catches his eye and mouths _that’s what she said_. Jace rolls his eyes, but can’t help being a bit embarrassed. He’s athletic. There’s no reason yoga should pose a challenge.  
  
“We’re just doing stretches now,” she explains helpfully. “I’m sure Sebastian will be happy to help you out when the class starts, won’t you honey?”  
  
Sebastian mutters something that sounds like “yeah whatever” and sits down on the mat furthest from Annalise, which leaves Jace in the middle. He feels vaguely ridiculous in his soccer shorts over his leggings, but he’s sure as hell not going to take them off, even if it’s what everyone else is wearing.  
  
Jace quickly finds out that not only is Sebastian impossibly flexible, he also seems to be some kind of contortionist. And he’s not the only one. Every single possible permutation and combination of improbable body positions, half the class can achieve, while Jace struggles to adopt even a passable warrior pose. Sebastian smirks at him upside down while risking life and limb engaging in something called a “Scorpion headstand,” and Jace opts for a tasteful downward dog instead. Sebastian can also twist himself into a pretzel shape while balancing on two hands, which is impressive but also a little frightening. By the time they’re done, Jace is aching and miserable and Sebastian has worked up a beautiful sheen of sweat and the most delicate of flushes that makes him look like a freakishly flexible china doll.  
  
“Have fun?” Sebastian asks solicitously, very much aware his shirt has ridden up over his stomach. Jace manages to groan but not much else.  
  
Annalise is very sympathetic and makes him tea when they get home, which Jace isn’t sure will help his weakly spasming muscles, but he appreciates the gesture nonetheless. Sebastian drags him up to his room and mocks him gleefully for being a weakling, but crawls onto the bed and rests his head carefully on Jace’s shoulder.  
  
“Ow,” says Jace.  
  
“Do you need a massage?” Sebastian asks, in the fakest, least innocent voice Jace has ever heard.  
  
“No,” Jace says. “I do, however, need an Advil.”  
  
Sebastian mutters something that sounds like “killjoy” but gets up and fetches him a bottle. Jace takes two and flops back onto the mattress with a groan. “You didn’t even appreciate my leggings,” Sebastian pouts. “I spent two-hundred dollars of Val’s money on them.”  
  
Jace’s mouth twitches upwards. “That was very clever of you.”  
  
Sebastian makes an annoyed noise and drags Jace’s arm over his own waist. “At least hold me while we cuddle.”  
  
“We’re cuddling?”  
  
“We’re cuddling,” Sebastian confirms. “Since you’ve apparently had your way with my pure and virginal body—“  
  
Jace nearly inhales a mouthful of Annalise’s tea, partly at the idea that he’s had his way with anyone and also at the idea that Sebastian is anything near pure or virginal. There’s a knot of anxiety in his chest at the thought they’re cuddling, or a god forbid a couple, or anything like that. “When you say cuddling, do you mean—“  
  
“I mean relax,” Sebastian says, dark eyes turning up his way. “You lie there like a piece of sponge bread, and I’ll rub my face over your washboard chiseled abs.”  
  
Jace shoots him a distressed look, hoping he misheard. “My what?”  
  
“Never mind,” Sebastian mutters, libido clearly defeated by Jace’s ineptitude. “For the record, you could have totally convinced me to suck you off but you fucking ruined it. Hope you’re happy and extremely sexually frustrated.”  
  
Jace is silent a moment, mostly because he isn’t sure how to follow that pronouncement up, but also because Sebastian is very warm and surprisingly soft against Jace’s body. With trepidation, Jace rolls closer and lets Sebastian position himself snugly in his arms. Within a few minutes, Sebastian’s eyes drop shut and his breathing slows. Jace himself drifts off a few minutes later, enormously content.  
  
  
  
  
Jace arrives home to little fanfare. Jocelyn and Luke are watching FRIENDS reruns off some streaming site on the couch, and they greet him as he comes inside. Jocelyn smiles at him as he shuts the door behind him, but Jace can’t help but imagine there’s something suspicious in her expression. “It’s date night,” she explains. “There’s ice cream in the freezer, but don’t eat all of it, or Luke will be horribly distraught.”  
  
“I will be,” Luke agrees, very seriously. “Very.”  
  
“I’m fine, thanks,” Jace says, but he smiles. He snags an apple from the fridge and makes for his room, shucking off his jacket and hanging it up. He’s still sore, but in a relaxed way—he doesn’t think yoga is in any way worth the pain, but Sebastian’s slow breathing against his chest, the silky softness of his hair—that might just be another story.  
  
Jace glances to check the door is closed, as if paranoid Jocelyn or Luke can read his thoughts. He has to be careful, so fucking careful. They wouldn’t understand. Hell, he himself barely does. He feels like he’s only vaguely in control of his life, as if viewing his own choices from a further, deeper sphere, but experiencing the quiet moments in exquisite detail.  
  
His phone vibrates in his pocket and he pulls it out; Sebastian has sent him a snap. He opens it.  
  
It’s a selfie of Sebastian pouting at the camera, captioned with _I can’t believe you didn’t let me blow you_. Jace is unsure how to reply, and is blessedly spared from the burden by a second message, sent a few seconds later.  
  
 _> am I not sexy enough for you? :((_  
  
Jace considers asking him if he’s drunk, then decides this is probably some sort of...couple-y thing he’s supposed to be intimately familiar with already, somehow. Maybe Sebastian thinks it’s cute? Either way, he knows the answer to the question.  
  
 _< of course u are_  
  
 _> Jace ffs_  
 _> I’m SEXTING you_  
 _> be SEXY_  
 _> like ‘idve reamed you 12 ways till Sunday if I hadn’t been experiencing back problems’ idk_  
  
 _< that’s.....sexy?_  
  
 _> for a 40 year old man_  
 _> im trying to set the bar low, jace_  
  
 _< wow thanks_  
 _< well ill have you know im very athletic_  
  
 _> tell me more 🥰_  
  
Jace wracks his brains, trying to devise a way his fitness regimen could possibly be construed sexually. Considering how much Sebastian mocks him for his sport, he can’t think of a way that it could possibly be a turn-on for him.  
  
 _< I have great teamwork skills?_  
  
Sebastian sends him a bitmoji that suggests he is not amused.  
  
 _> ok u need to watch more porn jfc_  
 _> im gonna send u nudes and u can just tell me in the most unimaginative way humanly possible that you jacked off to them_  
  
Jace is no expert on relationships by any means, but he also isn’t an idiot. Telling one’s prospective crush/boyfriend/whatever that he jacked off to his face spells utter, complete disaster.  
  
 _< you...want me to tell you that....?_  
  
 _> no jace im sending u nudes so u can frame them and show them to ur mom_  
 _> ok just so we’re clear that was sarcasm and if you do that im going to strangle you, and not in the fun way_  
  
Jace rolls his eyes.  
  
 _< thanks for the heads up_  
 _< look u don’t have to do this, I appreciate it or whatever but u don’t have to_  
 _< im not just out to have sex with you or whatever_  
  
He doesn’t add that the idea is slightly terrifying, a whole unknown he hasn’t even considered yet. Having sex with a girl was something he’d planned to joke about but not actually do until college. Having sex with Sebastian....well, that hadn’t been in the cards at all. Ever. Well, until recently.  
  
 _> r u srs_  
 _> ok jace ur a dense mf but its nearly midnight and I have to go with annalise to her special hot yoga session tomorrow morning so ill deal with u in the morning_  
  
 _< um_  
 _< ok?_  
  
He doesn’t get a reply after that—Jace assumes he’s gone to bed, or is ranting to Camille about his deep unsexiness. Irked by the idea of the latter, he takes a deeply unsexy shower and goes to sleep.  
  
  
  
  
  
Sebastian texts him after practice to tell him he’d miss first period and would see him at lunch. Jace re-reads the _Great Gatsby_ through chemistry and tries not to feel too much like Nick Carroway pining after Gatsby. He promises himself if Sebastian starts calling him ‘old sport’ he’ll go join a monastery. He sulks through English and dodges Mr. Starkweather’s attempts to talk to him after class, then finds an abandoned classroom and folds himself into a desk to sulk some more.  
  
The door opens and Sebastian enters, looking as windswept as if he’d stepped off the pages of an Austen novel, and vaguely annoyed. “There you are. I was looking for you everywhere. Anyway it doesn’t matter, because I’ve figured out the solution to all your ridiculous neuroses.”  
  
Jace looks up from his book, unamused. “Do tell.”  
  
“I’m asking you out on a date, of course,” Sebastian says, as if this should be cardinally obvious. “I told this fancy restaurant I was Val and have a reservation for Thursday. There’s a vague chance they’ll card us, but I have a fake ID so it’s okay, we can just pretend you’re my sugar baby or whatever.”  
  
“I’m just going to forget everything you said after ‘Thursday.’”  
  
Sebastian beams. “I knew you’d say yes.” He sits down next Jace and props his boots up on the adjacent desk, pulling out two Five Guys’ burgers from his backpack and dumping one on Jace’s desk. “C’mon, you can’t brood when I asked you out on a date and bought you a burger.”  
  
“Actually I can, and I will.”  
  
Sebastian gives a very put-upon sigh and slides a Cinnabon box onto his desk. “I was going to eat it myself, but I came prepared to bribe you with food and I won’t back down now.”  
  
Jace couldn’t help one corner of his mouth lifting. “I’ll consider it.”  
  
Sebastian sighs. “You drive a hard bargain.” He unwraps his burger and bites into it. Through a very full mouth, he says, “I never thought I’d meet a guy who can’t be bribed by sex or food, but I guess you always manage to surprise me.”  
  
Jace pauses pretending to read and turns his way. “Look, don’t do your asshole routine on me but...you don’t find me boring, do you?”  
  
“Boring?” Sebastian repeats, blankly.  
  
“Yeah,” Jace says quickly. “I mean I don’t really like parties—“  
  
“Jace.” Sebastian interrupts. He looks somewhere between surprised and amused, which sets Jace on edge somehow. “You’re not that  boring, you’re moody and antisocial, which is a lot cuter.” His expression grows impish, and he adds, “I’m pretty sure the image of me in a thousand dollar suit will cheer you up a bit.”  
  
“Your humility outshines the sun,” Jace replies, but he’s smiling now. “So that’s your real motivation for asking me to dinner, you’re hoping I’ll fall for your well-tailored charms.”  
  
“What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t pressure you into sexual favors by paying for dinner?” Sebastian counters with a narrow-eyed smile. “Obviously fast food hasn’t worked, so I need to up my budget.”  
  
“At least you know I’m not a cheap date.”  
  
“I am,” Sebastian grumbles. “You just have standards and shit, apparently, which is very inconvenient.”  
  
Jace laughs, the tension wound round his chest dissipated. Sebastian has a way of doing that—worming through his defenses with cutting humor. It’s hard to stay mad at him. “Well, I am accepting the Cinnabon in return for ending my silence, so my standards can’t be that high.”  
  
He saves half of it for Clary, since he’ll be taking the bus home instead of going to Sebastian’s. Clary and Izzy have a game, and he’d promised he would be there. Sebastian threatens to dye his hair black and come with him in disguise, but Jace tells him he’s pretty sure that won’t work.   
  
“Killjoy,” Sebastian says.  
  
The rest of the day passes in a lighter haze. There’s a quiz in history Jace didn’t study for, but neither did the rest of the class, and he remembers more than he imagined he would about world war two, anyway. He meets Clary and Izzy at the bus stop with an absurd skip to his step. He’s never been on a date—he only has a vague conception of what it should be like, which is something about paying and telling the girl she looks good. Given he has about five bucks to his name and Sebastian will probably accept no less than a sonnet written spontaneously about his unearthly beauty, Jace supposes this isn’t very helpful.  
  
“You look happy,” Izzy says, her tone implying this is a somewhat rare event. “Are you coming to the game tonight?”  
  
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Jace gingerly extricates the Cinnabon box from his backpack. “I saved this for you guys, if you want it.”  
  
To his vague unease, Clary and Izzy just share a knowing look and giggle. After a few more seconds of silent communication, Clary asks, innocently, “Did Sebastian give it to you?”  
  
“Maybe,” Jace says, feeling his face heat. “But only because he’s an asshole who has to bribe people into putting up with him.”  
  
Clary and Izzy just keep giggling. Jace gives up his attempts at denial with a tinge of despair.   
  
  
  
  
  
“Jace, sweetheart, can you Skype Simon? He wants to be there for the game, too.”  
  
Jace thinks this is bloody typical of Lewis but shrugs. “Sure. What’s his username?”  
  
“Oh uh, don’t worry about it, I can skype him during half time,” Clary says too quickly, turning slightly even as Izzy attempts to capture her hair in a wild ponytail. Izzy tsk’s and turns her back around, re-attempting to tame Clary’s hair. “Jace probably has homework or something to do during the game, don’t you, Jace?”  
  
“It’s fine,” Jace says, a little stymied. “I haven’t talked to Lewis in a while, anyway.”  
  
“Thank you, Jace,” Jocelyn says. “It’s _radioactive.panda_ , and there’s an icon of a...I’m not sure what that is. Anyway, I’m sure he’ll be very happy to talk to you.”  
  
Jace types the username into the app and pulls up what he hopes is Lewis’ contact. He sends a request then types, “Hey this is jace” and hits send. He catches sight of Luke making hot dogs outside on the grill and crosses the kitchen to go outside to join him. Luke’s singing along to...Bruno Mars? and doing a little dance that Jace is tempted to catch on video, but doesn’t. “Hey there,” Luke says, flipping the hot dogs neatly and smiling Jace’s way. “What’s up?”  
  
“Not much,” Jace says. His hands are in his pockets; he feels very awkward. “Actually, uh, yeah, I don’t suppose you have any advice for uh, going on a date? Nothing serious,” he adds quickly as Luke’s face lights up. “Very casual.”  
  
“Who’s the lucky girl?” Luke asks, now totally ignoring the grill.  
  
Jace’s veins freeze and unfreeze in the span of a few seconds. “A girl from class,” he says, attempting a cheeky smile and probably only half succeeding. “Again it’s not really anything—maybe uh, don’t tell Jocelyn? She’ll probably threaten her with a shotgun or something.”   
  
Luke chuckles, probably in agreement. “Well, I know it’s all the rage with your soccer buddies, but maybe lose the Axe. And probably wear something other than a t-shirt and jeans.”  
  
Jace mentally crosses out the attire he’d been planning. “A suit? I don’t even own a suit.”  
  
“A suit is probably overkill,” Luke says, looking amused for some reason. “Maybe a button-down, and slacks if you have them.”  
  
Jace doesn’t have the heart to tell him he has no idea what slacks are. “Okay. Slacks, buttons, no Axe. Got it.”  
  
“And uh,” Luke continues, and then takes a breath and lets it out. “Use protection, okay champ?”  
  
Jace makes some sort of awkward jerky nod and Luke gives him a tasteful nod in return, and then Jace beats a hasty retreat to his room with the full intention of scrubbing the last few seconds of the conversation out of his memory.  
  
He’s lucky, because Maia’s texted him asking how his day went. With a strange mixture of trepidation and absurd excitement, he types out,  
  
 _< Sebastian asked me out on a date lmao_  
  
 _> omg he did? and they say romance is dead_  
 _> dinner? movie?? burlesque dancing??_  
  
 _< dinner lol_  
 _< I just asked luke for advice and he told me not to wear axe and to use protection so_  
 _< that was horrible_  
  
 _> jace_  
 _> ja c e ._  
 _> why do you wear axe to begin with_  
  
 _< it’s a soccer thing jfc_  
  
 _> no. it’s a soccer bro thing_  
 _> please just. throw it all away ok. just. get rid of it._  
 _> for my sanity if nothing else_  
 _> take pictures once its gone. or im bussing to your house to do it myself._  
  
 _< lol that bad? ill borrow luke’s old spice_  
 _< hows Gretel?_  
  
 _> shes good!_  
 _> she went to therapy at the counselor’s and it wasn’t totally awful_  
 _> not sure she’ll stick to the treatment plan but im always hopeful_  
 _> she did also email her prof about her midterm grade with just ‘bruh’ so maybe im speaking too soon_  
 _> but that’s also just Gretel lol_  
 _> wait you are going on this date right??_  
  
 _< yeah probably_  
  
The truth of it was that Jace was already some strange and embarrassingly girlish combination of nervous and excited, and even his best attempts to make himself feel casually about it were failing. But he wasn’t about to admit that to Maia, at least not yet.  
  
 _> ok good_  
 _> keep me updated, I gotta go see what Bat’s up to_  
  
 _< will do_  
  
Jace lies down on the bed, monitoring the living room for the bustle associated with them leaving, when his phone vibrates again. He picks it up, expecting another snap from Sebastian about how much he hates his comp sci homework, but it’s Simon.  
  
 _> Hey thanks for adding me back!_  
 _> I don’t really know anything about volleyball so you might have to explain what’s going on, ahhaa._  
  
 _< I don’t either tbh but I’ll try_  
 _< Hows it going??_  
  
 _> Not bad, the band’s not Champagne Enema anymore, its more like Radioactive Panda right now? But we got a really good new bassist, his name is Jordan. He’s never seen Battlestar Galactica, can you believe that?_  
  
Jace could, in fact, believe that.  
  
 _< glad u finally listened to clary and lost the wine enema name_  
 _< not ur greatest phase, sorry dude_  
 _< hows school going?_  
  
 _> Uh, good? I guess? It’s not the same without you and Clary, I miss you guys. Are you gonna come and visit?_  
  
 _< not sure, nothing on the horizon that I know about. sorry_  
  
 _> Well, if you guys ever want to come over I know Mom and Becky would love to see you guys again. And me. Of course also me. Definitely also me._  
 _> Oh hey Aline says hello! Did you know she’s dating Helen now?? Isn’t that great?_  
  
 _< yeah I saw on fb_  
 _< their photos are cute im glad they’re doing well_  
 _< say hi to aline, hope the teams doing ok_  
  
 _> Better than okay, actually. Aline thinks we’re gonna go to the championship this year. I don’t really understand these things but she’s pretty sure._  
  
Jace feels a vague stab of guilt. The feeling that he’d abandoned his team nags, especially since the competition between private schools, which could draw athletes from any district, and public schools, which have only one district to pull from, is somewhat to very unfair. But it’s very unlikely Simon knows this.  
  
 _< best of luck to the team they’ll do great_  
  
There’s a commotion in the living room, and then Clary’s voice calling, “Jace! Come eat dinner!”  
  
He yells something back and fires off a quick message to Simon.  
  
 _< brb_  
  


 

  
  
The gym smells like a locker room on some really bad steroids mixed with oily popcorn and stale potato chips. Combined noise of parents screaming and shoes shrieking on the floor gives Jace a headache, but he can’t leave because Jocelyn will insist on him handing off the phone to her, and if Sebastian texts—well, it could be unpleasant. So he chats with Simon as they watch the game, distracted, wondering what Sebastian is doing. He wishes he could go out into the hall and FaceTime him quickly, but he tempers the urge.   
  
He tried bringing his chemistry textbook to study, but he might as well have brought something in Greek. He wasn’t sure how anyone could give a shit about emission spectra, let alone the chemical properties of transition metals, but apparently his teacher expected him to.  
  
Clary and Izzy’s team have had a slim margin of a lead since half time, thanks to Clary’s mean spikes and Izzy’s impressively aggressive offense. Simon cheers and does a dorky little dance whenever they score and Jace thinks guiltily that Simon’s a better brother than he is. He does catch a few furtive smiles between Izzy and Clary that are surprisingly heartwarming, and he thinks of the lamp now sitting by Clary’s bedside. She had taken to decorating it. It says more about his sister’s sex life than he ever wanted to know.  
  
As soon as the game ends—Clary and Izzy’s team won by a close two-point margin—Jace stows his Chemistry book and heads out of the gym, saying he had to go to the bathroom. Jocelyn and Luke go to congratulate Clary and Izzy, who are jumping up and down and shrieking. The hall is quiet, blessedly so. With a jolt, Jace remembers Simon. Stuffing his earbuds into his ears, Jace says, “Hey man, sorry about that. I’m hanging up now, okay?”  
  
“Oh, okay,” says Simon. There’s something off in his tone, something more rabbity and hesitant than usual. “Actually, um, Jace—sorry, uh, before you go, um, there’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about?”  
  
Jace sighs internally, sure he would soon be the messenger of one of his and Clary’s inscrutable nerd jokes. “Shoot.”  
  
“So uh, sorry if this is weird, but uh, I’ve kind of had this weird crush on you for a while? And like I didn’t actually want to ever say anything, you know, because like, I’d rather die and all that, but my therapist has been telling me to—ok never mind about my therapist, but uh, I guess I just wanted to, uh, tell you? Before I like, die. I mean, assuming I die.” Simon gives him an incredibly awkward and pixellated thumbs up, grimacing from behind his glasses. “Oh god, that was horrible.”  
  
Jace pauses over the water fountain. All possible responses had flown from his head like startled birds, leaving him at a loss. “Oh, uh, okay.”  
  
“Sorry,” Simon blurts out. He suddenly looks deflated, as if the motor that ran his mouth had finally run out of steam. It’s a horrible look, and Jace wishes for something—anything—to say to make it go away. “Clary told me not to say anything—I shouldn’t have brought it up, I’m sorry—“  
  
“It’s okay,” Jace says, without knowing what words he’ll reach for next. “You don’t have to be sorry. Do you apologize to everyone you ask out?”  
  
“Yes,” Simon replied automatically. “Clary, uh, Clary says it’s a bad habit.”  
  
Jace isn’t an expert by any means, but he does officially have a boyfriend now, so he figures it’s on him to fix this...situation. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, okay? You’re a great guy, Simon. You’ve got a lot to offer whoever you ask out, and I know you well enough to know you’re not going to be creepy about it. So no apologies, okay?”  
  
Simon looks embarrassed, the good kind. Like no one tells him about his better qualities very often. Jace might find him a little annoying, but Clary trusts him and they’ve been relying on each other for big things for years. It’s more than Jace can say about anyone except Maia, and he’s only known her for a few months. Alec could barely be assed to reply to his texts. Simon once biked to their house with chocolate when Clary was having a bad period. For years Jace had thought Simon was into her, until he’d seen them talking over FaceTime about Izzy and realized Simon loved her—but not romantically. He looked happier to hear about Clary and Izzy than he did upon finding a rare Pokemon on Pokemon Go. “Okay. Uh, I mean, thanks.”  
  
There’s a fragile pause, and Jace realizes what he needs to do. He doesn’t want to—it’s safer to keep it to himself, not tell anyone who doesn’t already know, lest it gets back to Jocelyn somehow. But he can’t stand how crushed Simon looks, like a kicked puppy. Ashamed, embarrassed. Wishing he’d just kept his mouth shut. “I’m, actually, uh, seeing someone.” He steeled himself to say it out loud. “A, uh, dude.”  
  
Simon’s eyes go the size of saucers. “What? Wow, really?” He looks ready to reach for his inhaler. Jace is feeling the same way. “Does Clary know?”  
  
Jace gave him a look.   
  
“Oh. Right. Yeah, of course she does.” Lewis suddenly looks elated at his rejection, and Jace is reminded of the meme Clary likes to send him, with the two Spidermans. Same hat. “Seriously, really? Like actually?”  
  
“Yes, seriously, actually, really.” A Snapchat notification from Sebastian flashes on the screen and Jace casts around for an excuse to end the call. “Okay, come on, call Clary so you can congratulate her. And show her that ridiculous dance you did, she’ll love it.”  
  
Simon grins brightly. “Will do. Thanks, Jace.”  
  
“Bye, Simon.”  
  
  
  
  
  
“Oh, honey,” says Annalise, in a voice that could be called charitable at best and distressed at worst. “I think...you might be a little underdressed.”  
  
“Am...I?” Jace says, suddenly self-conscious. He glances at his reflection in the nearest mirror. His uniform pants—Maia informed him these were slacks—and a short-sleeved button down he used to wear whenever the whim struck Jocelyn to go to church suddenly seem quite common. “Oh.”  
  
“Don’t worry,” she adds quickly, pasting a comforting smile over her pity. “Sebastian is still upstairs getting ready—he’s so particular—but some of Val’s things should fit you, you’re about his height.”  
  
Jace tries to protest but she has none of it, taking him by the arm and pulling him towards the stairs.   
  
“Sebastian, sweetie,” she calls.  
  
“What?” Sebastian yells back.  
  
If she’s significantly phased by the abrupt response, she doesn’t show it. “Jace is here, honey.”  
  
Sebastian makes a noise that sounds like coming and a few seconds later he’s descending the stairs. Bizarrely it reminds Jace of a prince from a Disney film, if a Disney prince was over six foot and weighed less than Jace did when he was in middle school. Either way, his suit is inky black and seems to cling to the long lines of his body, making him look almost cartoonishly perfect, like a movie star.  His silver hair is swept back in a way that seems almost effortless, but from the familiar smell of hairspray its probably anything but. A skinny black tie and narrow, elongated black leather shoes only accentuates his model-perfect figure. He looks like he should be accompanied by an equally impossibly perfect woman in a fancy dress. Jace is pretty sure he doesn’t fit that bill, and for some reason his anxiety mounts.  
  
“He’ll need to borrow one of Val’s suits,” Annalise says, aiming another charitable look Jace’s way. “Didn’t you tell him what kind of restaurant it is?”  
  
“I don’t think anyone bothered to teach him much about dress codes,” Sebastian says airily, as if still drinking in Jace’s attention. To Jace, he says, “We’ll have to take you shopping. I swear all you own is basketball shorts.”  
  
Annalise brightens. “That’s a wonderful idea. What do you think, sweetie?”  
  
“He says yes, he’d be delighted.” Sebastian crosses the foyer, his shoes clipping on the tile, and adroitly tangles his arm in Jace’s. He smells musky and sweet at the same time—it must be his cologne. Either way, Jace can feel his face burning. “We’ll be in the closet. In Jace’s case, metaphorically and literally.”  
  
And with that he takes off down towards wing of the house that contains the master suite. Jace had never been there, and for some reason it makes him intensely curious and a bit nervous. The idea of wearing Val’s clothes—clothes he has to assume were very expensive—was outright anxiety inducing. What if he spilled ketchup on it? Did they even serve ketchup at fancy restaurants? Would he have to know how all the little forks worked?  
  
“For god’s sake, Jace, shut up. I can hear you from outside your skull,” Sebastian says. He pushes open a dark, heavy-looking door and Jace is momentarily taken aback by the dark, elegant design of the bedroom. The furniture is dark, heavy, and wooden, exquisitely carved. The room is dominated by a enormous king bed, and Jace had to imagine tiny Annalise all alone in it and is hit with a combination of humor and sadness.  
  
“It looks like a sex dungeon, I know,” Sebastian says, his voice amused but his dark eyes a little too intense. “Anyway, we don’t have a lot of time, so come on, lets see what fits you.”   
  
He pushes open another door and pulls Jace inside. Even the closet is enormous, softly lit, the carpet plush and soft underneath his feet. A long mirror lines one wall, and Jace eyes Annalise and Val’s clothes with some trepidation. He feels like he’s trespassing, even though Sebastian is rifling through Valentine’s perfectly-pressed shirts and suitcoats, all probably worth more than Jace’s kidneys.  
  
“Sorry,” Jace says, trying to keep his eyes on Annalise’s collection of silky floral tops rather than Sebastian’s ass, or his legs, or the way his jacket clings to his narrow waist. “I, uh, don’t actually own a suit.”  
  
“I’m not surprised,” Sebastian says, then pulls a dark blue jacket off its hanger. “Okay, try this on. I think it’s the smallest he has.”  
  
Obediently, Jace takes it from him and slips it on. It’s tight around his arms but the lining is silky soft and whispers against his skin. A tiny shiver goes down his spine and he feels rather silly, but Sebastian is standing very close to him and—  
  
“It’s way too small,” Jace says.  
  
“No it’s not,” Sebastian says, his hand is on Jace’s shoulders almost possessively, which sends another shiver down Jace’s spine. “Well, maybe, but it makes your shoulders look like Channing Tatum’s so I don’t give a fuck.”  
  
Before Jace can protest being compared to Channing Tatum, Sebastian has piled him with matching pants (slacks? pants? trousers?) and shirts as if he’s a coat-rack, and is now examining Val’s tie collection like he’s reading tarot cards, occasionally picking one out and throwing it carelessly over Jace’s shoulder or arm. “Well, try them on,” Sebastian says, as if Jace is an idiot.  
  
“Turn around or I’ll lock you in here,” Jace mutters, then fumbles with the buttons on his own shirt and pulls it off. He feels a little bit silly half-naked in the mirror, but also a little bit...sexy surrounded by the lush furniture and clothes. He knew he’s probably considered conventionally attractive, but for some reason with Sebastian it’s different—he never knows what about pleases Sebastian and what doesn’t.  
  
He quickly struggles into the crisp white shirt, trying to ignore Sebastian looking very amused by his struggles in the mirror. Eventually he gives in and lets Sebastian sidle in close and do up the buttons for him, his cool, slender fingers nimble and quick. He can feel Sebastian’s breath on his cheeks and feels something hot and cold at the same time slipping around in his gut. The shirt feels uncomfortably tight over his chest, but he has a feeling that trying to protest would be fruitless. Or maybe that was just shortness of breath.  
  
“Perfect,” Sebastian breaths, and carefully knots a tie around Jace’s neck. It’s a bit uncomfortable but Jace bears it. His chest feels even tighter now—he wonders if whoever invented the suit had a fetish or something, or if that’s just Sebastian.  
  
“Of course I am,” Jace says, but it comes out a bit hoarse.  
  
He does actually manage to kick Sebastian out to change his pants, and he’s glad he wore briefs not boxers. The trousers aren’t as tight as Sebastian’s but he does have a sneaking suspicion not all men wear them this way. When he lets Sebastian back in he looks Jace over in the mirror, evidently appeased. He circles in to fuss with Jace’s collar and straighten Jace’s tie, then breaths against the shell of Jace’s ear, “Your ass looks amazing.”  
  
“Fuck off,” Jace says, but he can see himself blushing.  
  
Sebastian agonizes over which shoes to give him, and his top choice are definitely too small, so he settles for an orangey-brown leather pair that again, probably cost more than Jace’s kidneys. “They match your eyes,” Sebastian says, and his lips are just slightly parted, and Jace’s heartbeat is racing—  
  
A knock sounds at the door and they both startle. A second later Annalise’s voice sounds through the door, apologetic. “ _Sorry honey, but your reservation is less than an hour away and I have to take pictures._ ”  
  
Sebastian rolls his eyes but opens the door and presents Jace to Annalise for inspection, the way one might show off a particularly cute dog. Annalise squeals and exclaims how handsome they both are, and drags them both into the living room where the lighting is better. Sebastian, who seems to dislike everything Annalise does, surprises Jace by agreeing and running through an exhaustive and slightly embarrassing collection of couple’s poses. Once she’s done Sebastian insists on taking selfies, and by the time he’s done Jace finally manages to find a face that doesn’t make him look unendurably awkward. Then Annalise shoos them out of the house, Jace feeling a strange combination of nervous and horny. He’s slightly more comfortable in Val’s suitcoat now that he’s been wearing it a while; Sebastian pulls a bottle of cologne from the glove box and sprays it unceremoniously in Jace’s face, laughing at the face Jace makes.  
  
They’re a bit late, which Sebastian insists isn’t a problem, but the impeccably-dressed waiter at the door gives them both a distinctly dirty look. “Reservation?” he asks, clearly unable to find fault in Sebastian and turning on Jace as the weaker link instead.  
  
“Valentine Morgenstern, 8:30,” Sebastian says in a carelessly bored tone. Its a tone Jace has learned to associate with him lying, and for some reason it makes his stomach flutter.  
  
The waiter seems to get the same idea, and suddenly Jace is worried they’ll be carded and have to explain how a “21-year old” is a practicing lawyer with children, but the waiter seems to evaluate how much hell Sebastian is liable to bring upon him and folds.  
  
“Just this way, monsieurs,” he says, and Jace has to keep a straight face at the affectation. Jace has to wonder a bit hopelessly at Sebastian’s reckless confidence—Jace is pretty sure he couldn’t even get an Applebees reservation without fucking it up.  
  
Jace does his best not to stare as the waiter leads them through the restaurant. The walls are lined high with plush crimson booths, dark tables and chairs, a truly intimidating chandelier dripping with sparkling crystal. The bar stretches along an entire wall, lined with all the colors of drinks Jace could imagine. A handsome, perfectly-coiffed bartender watches them pass with vague interest. Conversation bubbles among the other patrons, all of them dressed to painted perfection. It seems  impossibly glamorous, and they are clearly the youngest in the entire establishment by a few decades.   
  
As the waiter leads them up the stairs Jace realizes the ceiling curves into the wall, creating a strangely cozy impression despite the lush surroundings. As they near the second floor Jace can hear a piano playing—and a nice one, too. The melody has a jazzy sort of cadence, but it isn’t any arrangement Jace is familiar with. It’s much quieter upstairs, candelit, the hardwood shiny under Jace’s feet.  
  
The waiter leads them to a high-backed booth at the corner of the floor and Sebastian takes the booth without fanfare and Jace sits opposite him, trying not to fidget. The waiter hands them each a stack of menus, giving Jace a look he has absolutely no desire to parse. Sebastian thanks him with an unfairly pretty smile.  
  
“May I offer you gentlemen a taste of our house chardonnay?” The waiter asks, somewhat impatiently.  
  
“Please,” Sebastian says. He opens the wine menu as the waiter pours them both a small amount of what Jace thinks is a white wine. After a moment of deliberation, Sebastian orders something fancy-sounding and French. Jace gives the waiter an awkward attempt at a smile and stays silent. The waiter gives them both another look and sweeps away, ostensibly to bring them whatever Sebastian had ordered.  
  
“What a fucking asshole,” Sebastian says, looking impishly amused. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to make out over the table when he comes back?”  
  
“Somehow I think that might get us kicked out of here,” Jace says.  
  
“Fine. But I’ll be thinking about it.” Sebastian pouts. He fiddles with a cufflink for a moment, then picks up the menu and scans idly. “Are you just going to stare at me in silence all evening? I don’t mind, but I probably will drink your wine.”  
  
Jace laughs, picking up the sample wine glass, probably incorrectly, and takes a sip. It’s bitter at first, but as he drinks more and tries to school his expression into something meditative and appreciative it seems to improve a bit. “Do I detect a hint of...grape?”  
  
Sebastian snorts. “Val and Annalise are fucking wine people, it’s physically painful. But it’s expensive as a middle-aged stripper so you better come up with something slightly better than grape.”  
  
Jace grins, swirling the glass and taking another sip, pretending to taste it deeply. He gazes off dramatically into the chandelier, as if having some great otherworldly experience. “Is that an undercurrent of cough medicine I detect? Brings me right back to having the flu...”   
  
Jocelyn had once caught Jace trying to drink cough medicine out of the bottle when he was eight, but this didn’t seem like proper dinner date material, so he kept it to himself.  
  
Sebastian snortes. “Cough medicine tasted better than this shit. I only drink white to get drunk and rosé if I’m depressed.”  
  
Another waiter returns bearing a bottle of red wine. Jace attempts to discern more about it and fails; it remains a bottle of red wine. The waiter pours them both glasses and leaves the bottle in an icy metal bucket, dripping condensation on the outside. Neither of them are ready to order, so the waiter bows out, pledging to return. Jace picks up his menu and tries to read it, but he can feel Sebastian’s gaze on him, making his cheeks heat. “Do I have something in my teeth?” he asks at last.  
  
“Your teeth?” Sebastian repeats stupidly. “Oh, uh no. Nothing.”   
  
“Well, you were looking at me funny, so I wondered.”  
  
Now Sebastian really is staring at him. “I was admiring you, Jace.” He reaches over the table to re-arrange Jace’s shirt collar again. The candlelight between them illuminates under the arches his cheekbones, lighting up his translucent lashes. The image is momentarily striking, stealing away Jace’s breath.  
  
“Oh,” Jace says. “I’m, uh, I’m admiring you too.”  
  
Sebastian looked bemused. “For someone who likes poetry so much, you’re not a very good flirt.” He takes a sip from his wine glass, tinting his pale lips red. “Try the wine. It might loosen you up a bit.”  
  
Jace raises an eyebrow in mock seriousness. “I thought you knew I wasn’t a cheap date.”  
  
Sebastian’s face alights with impish delight. “If you’re that much of a lightweight, that’s really sad. I’m just trying to loosen your tongue a bit. Maybe if I’m lucky you’ll let slip your weird sexual fantasies.”  
  
Jace manages not to choke on the wine, but it’s a close thing. “I don’t have any fetishes.”  
  
“Like a foot fetish,” Sebastian continues, clearly enjoying this line of conversation. He leans in, conspiratorial. “Come on. You have to at least thought about it.”  
  
“Foot fetishes, or fetishes in general?”  
  
“Pick one,” Sebastian wheedles. His smile is bright and luminous, in an impish way. “I won’t judge. Well, if it’s piss I will judge, but I’m telling you now so you can at least get off on your shame, or whatever.”  
  
Jace makes a face. “Yeah, no piss.” He thinks a moment, letting his gaze linger over the sparkling, moody scenery as inspiration. If he picks something too mainstream he knows Sebastian will mock him, but his education in the finer sexual arts is lacking, to put it mildly. “Uh, I’ll go with bondage.”  
  
“Bondage?” Sebastian’s dark eyes sparkle; the candle seems to dance in them. The tip of his tongue darts over his lips, making them shine. “That’s fucking hot.”  
  
Jace’s throat feels rather tight and he reflexively loosens his tie, swallowing over a very uncomfortable heat in his chest. “I’m glad you approve of my randomly chosen fetish, but don’t expect me to do it in real life.” He clears his throat, blinking away one or two explicit thoughts he didn’t expect to have. “We should probably look at the menu at some point.”  
  
“I’ve already decided.” Sebastian’s voice seems to have lowered, as if he’s whispering something very confidential, something thrilling and secretive only Jace can know, and gives a glimmer of a wink. “I could be convinced to do bondage.”  
  
“I’ll be sure to let your instagram followers know,” Jace says, a bit hoarsely. He’s about one more provocation away from a voice crack. He takes a hasty gulp of water and picks up the menu, blinking rapidly to try to make himself focus on the text. The first thing he sees is a thirty-five dollar appetizer and his eyebrows shoot up. “What the hell is up with this restaurant?”   
  
“It’s expensive,” Sebastian replies. He laughs, and the sound is infectious. “I’m spoiling myself.”  
  
“Aren’t you spoiling me?” Jace asks. He is, after all, the resident poor, and kind of feeling it. A lot. “I assume Val and Annalise aren’t exactly Subway’s number one customers.”  
  
“It’s not fun with them,” Sebastian says, pushing at the puddle of melted wax around the base of the candle. “All they do is talk about work or their work friends, or occasionally take a break to grill my ass about school and shit. And at school we can’t have a proper conversation. But now it’s just the two of us and your foot fetish.”  
  
“Still don’t have a foot fetish,” Jace says, going back to scanning the menu. “Holy shit, there’s a steak on here that’s three hundred bucks. What kind of fucking steak is worth that kind of money?”  
  
Even Sebastian looks a little thrown. “Three hundred, really?” He checks the menu and his eyebrows raise. “I guess that’s for if you’re on a business trip and want to absolutely obliterate everyone in the dick-measuring competition.”  
  
Jace snorts, imagining that literally. “Is that what businessmen do?”  
  
“I don’t know, you’d have to ask Val. I’ll ask him next time I see him. ‘Hey dad, when you go on business trips, is there ever a part where y’all just whip out your dicks?’ Like, just hold them up against each other and whoever’s biggest wins—“  
  
Jace grins. “By length, girth, or both? Or is it a gentlemanly thing where everyone assumes everyone else tells the truth, but they’re all just lying?”  
  
Sebastian makes an undignified noise. “Definitely the second.”  
  
“So whoever lies best wins.”  
  
Sebastian gives a sharp smile. “Isn’t that how everything works?”  
  
Jace shakes his head. “Cynic. Okay, I’m going for the cheapest steak they have, and it’s not even that cheap, and Maia is going to make fun of me for being ridiculous. I swear to god someone’s going to smell the Pleb on me and call the police.”  
  
“Don’t be intimidated,” Sebastian says, putting down his menu to give Jace an intimate smile, as if he’d made a very clever joke only they understood. “They’re all just jealous.”  
  
“Jealous?” Jace repeats skeptically. “Can I remind you we’re fucking high schoolers?”  
  
“We’re young and they’re old,” Sebastian says, as if their superiority should be obvious. “Beauty makes princes of those who have it, or whatever.”  
  
Jace squints. “Are you quoting Oscar Wilde?”   
  
It’s Sebastian’s turn to frown. “Oscar who? I could have sworn it was a Lana Del Rey lyric.”  
  
Jace rolls his eyes. “Next time just pretend you’re quoting Wilde.”  
  
“Is that what gets you hot and bothered?” Sebastian pulls out his phone and types a little, then reads, “ ‘Yet each man kills the thing he loves—‘ okay Jace, do you like anything that’s even remotely fun, ever?”  
  
“You’d like Wilde,” Jace says, defensively. “ ‘Hear no evil, speak no evil, and you won't be invited to cocktail parties’?”  
  
Sebastian’s eyes narrow and he keeps scrolling. Then his face brightens. “ ‘Everything in the world is about sex except sex, which is about power.’ Fuck, that’s kinky.” He peers Jace’s way as if seeing him anew. “Is uh, that a thing for you?”  
  
Jace shrugs expansively, infected by a strange, almost wild playfulness. “It’s a thing for Oscar Wilde. I, for one, remain undecided.” The quote is actually a misattribution, but Jace doesn’t quite summon the mental capacity to bring that up, nor does he particularly think Sebastian will be interested in hearing it.   
  
Sebastian finishes off his glass in an undignified gulp and pours himself a rather full second of the red wine, then lifts it across the table with a smile. “I’ll toast to that.”   
  
Jace raises his own glass and clinks the glass? crystal? against Sebastian’s. Their eyes are on each other as they drink, something hot and lively like an electric current running between them. It seemed entirely possible they stared at each other like that for up to a minute, until Sebastian’s face screws up and he lets out the smallest, cutest little sneeze Jace has ever heard.  “Stop laughing!” he snaps, grabbing at Jace’s hand. “It’s not funny!”  
  
“It’s funny,” says Jace, still laughing, but he doesn’t pull his hand away. “You sound like a fucking chipmunk.”  
  
Before Sebastian can grab a steak knife and murder him with the entire restaurant as witness, the waiter returns to take their order. Sebastian orders some kind of slightly expensive steak that has a fancy French name, and Jace orders the cheapest steak he could find, because he detests all seafood except salmon.  
  
“Isn’t caviar fish sperm?” Sebastian whispers as the waiter retreats. “Do people here just eat up fish sperm with dainty little spoons?”  
  
“They’re fish eggs,” Jace corrects him. “Though I’m not sure that’s much better.”  
  
They talk about all kinds of stuff—Netflix shows, the nanny Sebastian hated when he was nine, the weird and embarrassing things they did in middle school, Sebastian’s pantheon of celebrity crushes he would “flip over like a pancake” for, and Jace’s non-existent foot fetish. Sebastian makes a wifi hotspot with his nearly unlimited data so Jace can skype Maia, who they catch doing statistics homework. She exclaims over both of them and tells Jace how handsome he looks, then calls in Gretel and Bat to admire their cuteness. “Look at them,” she shouts, shoving he phone at her friends as Jace and Sebastian watch from her laptop webcam. “Aren’t they adorable?”  
  
“The super white one looks like my pet rat,” Gretel says, squinting at the screen. Sebastian gives her the finger and she laughs, charmed. “Rats are cute. Sometimes.”  
  
“Have fun, guys,” Bat calls from the back. He has a huge pair of headphones around his neck and a pot of coffee with chopsticks poking out in his hand. “Use protection!”  
  
“Bat!” Maia yells, then adds, in an undertone, “But yeah, use protection.”  
  
They get filthy looks from other patrons for using their phones, which Sebastian finds hysterically funny. He gets out of his chair mid-meal to kneel next to Jace and take selfies with him, arm around Jace’s shoulders and lips a centimeter from Jace’s cheek.   
  
Jace consents to have his hand stolen and after finishing off his steak and drinking over half the bottle of wine Sebastian has great fun playing with his fingers, trying to fit a ring from one of his own slender fingers onto Jace’s. He manages to jam it onto Jace’s pinky, but then can’t get it off. This causes a great deal of panic, swearing, and laughter between the two of them, but he eventually manages to prize it off and massage Jace’s mangled finger back to a normal color, which makes Jace a lot more uncomfortably excited than he would have expected.  
  
“I’ll make it up to you later,” Sebastian says with a little pout, but his eyes are smiling. “Should I kiss it better?”   
  
Somehow kissing isn’t exactly what Jace has in mind, but he manages to nod once or twice before Sebastian dips down and presses his lips to the back of Jace’s hand. They’re unbelievably soft and warm and move slowly over Jace’s skin and Jace is hyperaware of every tingle that shoots up his wrist—  
  
Then he pulls back, giving Jace a beautiful little smile that pierces him like a sunbeam.  
  
The waiter appears a few moments later with the bill, clearly glad to see the back of them. Sebastian tucks a black credit card into the bill holder and circles the 25% tip, which seems to ameliorate the waiter’s stormy mood somewhat. He returns a few moments later with a receipt and Sebastian’s card and escorts them downstairs. Someone’s group is singing happy birthday and Jace watches them as if in a daze.  
  
It’s cold outside, and dark. Sebastian lights a cigarette as if to keep warm, the moonlight making his hair even more pale and the red glow of the lighter lending heat to his cheeks. They start back towards Sebastian’s car—downtown living must be so miserable, part of Jace thinks—in relative silence, their shoulders knocking together. His hands are ice-cold in Val’s suitcoat pockets.  
  
“Are you sober enough to drive?” Jace asks, a bit skeptically.  
  
Sebastian sighs but pulls out his phone, tossing his cigarette butt on the ground and crushing it under his heel. “I’ll check. But yes, Jace, I’m sober enough to drive.”  
  
Jace kindly does not point out it was just a month and a half ago that Sebastian was in the hospital for alcohol poisoning. He watches Sebastian one-handedly type in his body weight, first drink, and number of subsequent drinks, and it spits out a blood-alcohol concentration of 0.3.   
  
“Happy?” Sebastian asks, looking amused. Before Jace can point out that Luke is an actual, literal cop, they catch sight of Sebastian’s car and hurry towards it. Sebastian unlocks it from a distance but as soon as it’s in range he pulls open the back door and piles in, Jace clambering in after him. With Jace’s backpack and soccer bag there’s not quite enough room for two and their legs tangle in the darkness. Both their hands are freezing and Jace yelps as Sebastian’s icy fingers curl around the back of his neck, pulling him in. But his lips are anything but cold, parting to allow Jace access to his mouth, velvety and hot. Jace is overtaken with ludicrous confidence, the shared want that hums between them heating something in his chest; he grabs Sebastian’s waist and draws him in close.  
  
Sebastian gives the softest of gasps as Jace pulls his hands up his arched back, watching his soft lips part. His hands fist in Jace’s suitcoat and he shifts around and hooks one leg over Jace’s to straddle Jace’s hips, the tip of his tongue pinched between his lips. His neck is craned down at an awkward angle against the car’s roof, but his forehead is a centimeter from Jace’s and he can feel Sebastian’s breath hot against his cheeks. His pale skin is flushed, his eyes a bit wild and his lips kiss-bitten red.  
  
His fingers curl around Jace’s jaw and he pushes their lips together for another kiss. It’s sloppy and open-mouthed, both of them breathing hard, Jace trying not to gasp aloud as Sebastian’s weight shifts over his lap and sending pulsing tingles up and down his spine. Sebastian’s hand rakes through his hair as he plays the tip of his tongue over Jace’s, drawing out a slightly strangled exclamation from Jace’s throat.  
  
“Fuck,” Sebastian says, and Jace feels as if he’s radiating heat. He can feel himself sweating, his clothes uncomfortably restrictive. “I didn’t—I didn’t bring a condom or anything—”  
  
It takes Jace a few seconds to parse this information, and he swallows over a suddenly dry throat before saying, “It’s fine.” To Sebastian’s raised eyebrows he adds quickly, “We don’t actually have to uh, do anything.”  
  
A narrow smile spreads over Sebastian’s face and he leans in to mouth a sloppy kiss over one of Jace’s sideburns. His voice resonates in Jace’s chest when he asks, “Do everything but fuck, you mean?”   
  
Jace didn’t have anything quite so articulate in mind, but he makes a noise of assent anyway. Sebastian looks pleased and his hands to got his collar, unbuttoning his now slightly rumpled shirt. The two halves part to reveal his pale, narrow chest. Jace’s heart pounds frantically against his ribcage; almost tentatively he presses his lips to Sebastian’s collarbone. Sebastian groans and shifts so that he’s pressed against Jace’s chest, stirring his hips in a way that makes Jace gasp. He feels his way up Sebastian’s neck with his mouth, sucking at his milky skin, letting his hands creep up Sebastian’s back. Sebastian gives soft, shuddering sighs and gropes clumsily at Jace’s shirtfront, grazing Jace’s skin with his nails and making him shiver.  
  
“Jace,” he gasps and fuck, the way he says it has Jace even more breathless than before. Sebastian’s breathing hard, narrow chest heaving; he tugs at Jace’s shirt, laying back against the black leather of the seat. His hair is in wild disarray—distantly Jace has to imagine he looks the same way. He twists around so Sebastian’s legs are curled around his waist, bracing himself on his elbows and letting Sebastian lace his fingers with Jace’s own. Sebastian jerks his hips against the top of Jace’s thigh and Jace pushes back reflexively, making him moan.  
  
“Fuck, Jace, _fuck_ —“  
  
What, if anything he plans to say after that is lost as Jace’s phone vibrates violently against their skin, knifing through the steamy fog that’s descended over Jace’s mind. He fumbles for it while Sebastian swears, finally pulling it free from his pocket and checking the caller ID. It’s Luke. Jace doesn’t answer, panic shooting through his limbs. He jerks upright, his head connecting painfully with the roof. Even Sebastian looks vaguely alarmed. He has nearly three missed texts, one from Jocelyn and two from Luke.  
  
 _> Hey champ any ETA? Mom’s worried about you._  
 _> Everything ok?_  
  
“Fuck,” Jace hisses. It’s past midnight. After their escapade at Quinn’s, Jace doubts either of them are feeling particularly trusting. He has to get back as soon as possible but he can’t just show up wearing Val’s clothes—  
  
“Jace?” Sebastian’s voice has a distinctly pouty tone. He rakes a hand through his now-wild hair. “Jace, what’s—“  
  
“I have to get home,” Jace says. He tries to disentangle himself from Sebastian and barely succeeds, mostly because his heart isn’t fully in it. But the reckless abandon of the past few minutes has evaporated, replaced with a pressing anxiety. Sebastian mutters something but unhooks his long legs from Jace’s and clambers ungracefully into the driver’s seat, nearly kicking Jace in the face more than once. With faint embarrassment Jace notices that the windows have steamed over, as if they’d been taking a bath.  
  
He fights his way out of Val’s suit in the backseat with great difficulty, throwing on his soccer clothes and trying not to shiver. As soon as they’re a few blocks away from Jocelyn’s house Sebastian pulls over and parks, twisting around again before Jace can open the door.  
  
“Kiss me again,” he says, and Jace does, and it’s sweet and slow as honey. Then Jace pushes the door open and grabs his backpack and bag, climbing out of the car and hurrying down the sidewalk, trying his hardest to ignore feeling bizarrely like Cinderella fleeing in a pumpkin coach.  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think. This chapter was pretty fun, but just a heads up it gets a bit more intense next chapter and a lot more from there. There'll be specific warnings for each chapter, so don't worry about any nasty surprises. Thanks for reading! <3

**Author's Note:**

> I hope y'all enjoyed the first chapter! I do have a fair bit written already (~60k), but there probably won't be a regular update schedule...but I will like, update.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!


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